Into the Wild
by Elizabeth Shawnessey
Summary: Arriving home for summer vacation from Yale, Amy Winchester is ready to do nothing for the coming months. However, her estranged, biological father, John, has other plans and immediately uproots her from her life of normalcy. Set between the season one episodes of "Shadow" and "Hell House"; fifth in a series; long.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **This isn't your typical _Supernatural_ fanfiction. This (particular) story isn't really going to involve much Sam or Dean, and only slight amounts of John, but that is because this series focuses on an entirely new, original character and her encounters with the paranormal. If you would like to continue reading, then please, please do so. If you want to bail out now because there's hardly any brothers Winchester, then I'll see you elsewhere. However, if you do keep on, then I must say one thing aside from thank you: this "episode", as I like to call them, is a platform for a future storyline. It's going to mostly be explanation of what happened while Amy (not the same one from the beginning of season seven, though I realize the tag is for "Amy Pond" and not this character) and John were on the road, with like, zero action. It's probably going to read more like a story geared for _Beverly Hills, 90210 _or something rather than _Supernatural_. Thankfully, though, this will most likely be the last "explainer" for awhile. Anyway, carry on!

* * *

><p>Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just <strong>strongly recommend <strong>it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

PROLOGUE ONE

North Shore Hotel  
>Northbrook, Illinois<br>Friday, May 19, 2006  
>7:47 PM<p>

**R**acing down the hallway of the North Shore Hotel, Amy Winchester attempted to pull up the straps of her dress and slip on her shoes as she made her way toward the dining hall of the elaborate building. She was late, _really _late, in helping her mom designate where to place tables and floral arrangements for the charity gala her parents were throwing tonight, and Amy had a feeling that the excuse of having just landed at Chicago O'Hare less than an hour ago wasn't going to cut it when it came to explaining why she wasn't on time.

Stopping to slide on her other ballet flat, Amy leaned against an open doorway and tried to get her feet to glide into the shoes she hadn't worn for the greater part of the year. It seemed like everything she owned had to be replaced every six months due to the rate she was growing taller, with nothing fitting from the time she left for Yale in the fall and came back at the start of summer. It appeared as though her Amazon gene had finally kicked in, shooting her up from the five-foot-seven girl she had been her senior year of high school to the five-foot-ten giant she had become during her previous three years in college.

Unfortunately, which side of her family she had gotten that from was still unknown, especially since her parents—the ones she lived with, anyway—had picked her out at an adoption clinic twenty years ago, meaning that anything biological that happened to Amy was a complete conundrum when it came to figuring out what was going on. Thankfully, short of growing infinitely taller, it seemed as though the differences between Amy Winchester and the Forester family were few and far between.

Giving up on trying to get her shoes on, Amy clasped them together in her hand and continued down the carpeted hallway leading toward the banquet room. As she passed the stairs, café, and elevator bank that contained marble flooring, Amy couldn't help but notice that the hotel her parents had picked for their semiannual charity event had been just as nice as the others. Over the past two decades, Joel and Jennifer Forester had only chosen the best of the best when it came to throwing parties, having the cash to afford it and friends to fill the spaces. However, this was the first time either of them had considered using the North Shore Hotel, especially since the place had been under construction for the greater part of the year. Blue and gold striped walls met soft royal carpet that ran from end to end of the lobby, while large, white doors with matching gold inlay sat propped open to display other convention spaces. Up the carpeted stairs were the rooms ranging from singles to suites, each of the insides decorated nicely and with a touch of class. Ultimately, though, Amy only knew that thanks to the brochures her parents had left lying around the house while trying to pick a place to hold the gala. Only her brothers, Thomas and Tristan, had been lucky enough to actually get to explore the hotel since she had been away at school in Connecticut at the time of choosing—three months in advance.

Slowing to a stop outside of the banquet hall, Amy stood in the doorway to take in the large room. Marble flooring that matched the white and tan outside of the elevators stretched out in front of her, meeting with the same blue and gold wallpaper that reached the ceiling. In the center of the space was a laminate wood dance floor that had been set down by the decorating company Jennifer Forester had hired, along with plain white tables that were being positions by some of the workers. Near a platform at the head of the room stood Amy's adoptive mom, her arms crossed over her chest as she tapped her feet impatiently at the people she undoubtedly deemed incompetent.

Watching her from across the way, Amy placed her shoes quietly on the ground and attempted to slide them on as she kept her eyes on Jennifer. The woman had always been impatient and snappy at her worst, finding whoever she hired to be slow and abysmal, as well as kind and loving at her best. On Christmas and Thanksgiving, she baked cookies and pies, and around Easter, took volunteers from the theology class she taught at DePaul University in Chicago to the local homeless shelter to serve food for extra credit. Having grown up poor, Jennifer had always said, had taught her to help those who hadn't figured a way out of the lifestyle, especially when they weren't as fortunate as she had been later in life.

Ultimately, though, judging by the glare Amy was receiving from across the room, Jennifer Forester wasn't feeling as loving and kind today as she was on every other. Cramming her foot uncomfortably into her shoe, Amy headed across the floor to stop by her mom, trying to tie her hair back in some sort of elegant bun as she did so. Relenting under the heavy locks as the tie in her hand snapped, Amy let her tangled, wavy hair fall over her shoulders carelessly as she looked down at Jennifer. Seeming to disapprove of her appearance, Jennifer stepped behind Amy and began to tie her hair up, making an effort out of it considering the six inches of height difference between them.

"I told you to get an earlier flight, Amelia," Jennifer scolded, pulling tightly on Amy's thick tresses. "If you had, we could have paid someone to fix this mess for you."

"Sorry," Amy frowned, feeling her mother finish tugging. "I thought I'd make it."

Stepping back to where she had been standing before, Jennifer nodded and shot her daughter a small, reassuring smile. "It's alright, dear. I'm just a little frustrated with this company I hired. Penny Collins told me they were _the _group to get when it comes to organizing events, but I think the three blind mice would have done a better job." Turning her gaze over to a pair of men setting up the bar, Jennifer's eyes darkened as she started toward them in a hurry. "No, no! What did I tell you? I want the drinks organized by _type_!"

Grinning to herself as she watched her mother berate the caterers, and secretly feeling bad for everyone working, Amy couldn't help but become amused at the sight of a five-foot-four, red-haired woman with barely any meat on her bones trying to criticize two burly men who could easily take her down with one punch. As the three continued to discuss the proper way to set up a bar, more men carried in tables and chairs, setting them up in pre-marked spots on the floor that had been designated with tape.

While they adjusted and hauled things in, Amy pulled at the hem of her dress, hoping that the knee-length skirt didn't raise any higher as she fidgeted. In all honesty, she felt stupid standing there, watching the men work while she did nothing, and wanted to help just to have something to do. Unfortunately, she knew her mother would be just as strict with Amy assisting the hired hands as she was with the bartenders, giving her an earful if she tried to lift a heavy banquet table while wearing a dress. Instead, she sat down against the stage, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers anxiously against the platform.

Ever since getting off the plane at Chicago O'Hare, since flights from New Haven didn't land at the Northbrook airport, Amy had been feeling a surge of energy that was comparable to the nights she spent downing Red Bulls to maximize her studying time before finals and mid-terms. Her hands felt shaky, as did her knees, and it seemed as though sitting down was a challenging task. In the cab ride back home, she had been drumming her fingers nervously against her thighs, trying to focus on a rhythm that would keep her occupied. After changing and driving to the North Shore Hotel, which had been an effort considering her limbs didn't seem to want to work properly, she had thought the sensation was gone as she raced to the banquet hall, only to feel it again as she sat alone on the stage.

Keeping her hands and feet busy as she fidgeted, Amy attempted to keep her mind focused on watching the workers set up the space around her. As she let her eyes wonder over the various men moving tables to meet the tape on the floor exactly, probably to keep Jennifer Forester off their backs, she noticed that a few of them seemed to be watching her in return. Biting her lip, Amy tore her eyes away and looked at the ground, bouncing her leg against the floor and letting her shoe tap on the marble.

Falling into the sound, Amy stared fixedly at the white and tan cracks beneath her, feeling her thoughts wander away from the hustle and bustle of the hall. For the past six months, she had been experiencing a string of strange sensations, starting with weird energy bursts and continuing on with odd swells of strength that might or might not be attributed to the amount of time Amy had been spending in the gym with ex-roommate, Robin. At first, it had begun happening whenever she felt strangely emotional, usually when a headache was clogging her brain from retaining information she needed for tests and exams, before it started happening more often and keeping her up at night. After awhile, after she had learned to head it off by lying down, shutting her eyes, and turning off all the noise in the room, the feeling had tapered off, disappearing entirely until a few hours ago, though not as extreme as some of the previous returns. Unfortunately, she had no way to relax with the tension her mother was creating across the room, causing a headache to begin to form at her temples.

Letting out a deep breath just as two identical red-haired boys chased one another into the hall, Amy furrowed her brow as she watched them, immediately recognizing the vibrant orange as a color distinctive of her twin brothers, Thomas and Tristan. Though the two didn't have to be at the event until it started at nine—especially since every time they tried to help, something got broken—it seemed as if the two had landed themselves in trouble at home judging by the angry look on Joel Forester's face as he trailed behind his sons. Again more ginger hair glinted off the overhead lights, though thinned compared to the twins' thick masses of hair, framing a square, blue-eyed expression that seemed to hold a glower. As Joel marched to where Jennifer was still discussing liquor with the bartenders, though at a much calmer volume than before, Amy could see that Thomas and Tristan had a look of gleeful excitement on their faces. Rolling her eyes and grinning, Amy got to her feet and crossed the room, carefully side-stepping where a pair of workers were straightening tablecloths.

"Alright, what'd you do?" Amy smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We didn't do anything," Thomas smiled. "Only saw something!"

Raising a dubious eyebrow, Amy scoffed. "Uh-huh."

"We did!" Tristan piped up. "Seriously!"

Biting her lip, Amy grimaced and shot a glance back at Joel and Jennifer as they discussed something angrily. It was clear that whatever Thomas and Tristan had or hadn't done was something disrupting—probably another stink bomb in the hallway outside just like a couple of years ago. Peering back at the twins, Amy smiled. "You guys are worse than Fred and George Weasley."

"Who?" Tristan asked, frowning.

Waving him off, Amy watched as Joel recrossed the room in a huff, passing the trio as they stood off to the side and disappearing out the door. A moment later and Amy started forward to follow, curious as to what the twins could have done now to possibly anger him.

Stepping carefully to keep her shoes from tapping against the floor, she headed quietly toward the hallway, stopping at the threshold to peer out. In the empty corridor stood Joel and another man. Studying him for a moment, Amy could see that the stranger had dark hair and eyes, with an equally dark expression in his features as he stared into Joel's face. His clothes were just as heavy as his glower, with a black wool peacoat weighing him down and torn blue jeans covering most of the thick biker boots poking out beneath. His shoes were muddy and clearly leaving tracks on the plush carpet, earning the man a scowl from one of the maintenance men as they passed by.

As the two spoke in hushed tones, Amy leaned back inside the banquet hall, suddenly interested in what was going on. If Thomas and Tristan had walked in on this, especially when they were supposed to be at home, why was Joel so mad? Usually her father was mild-mannered, unless he had been having a particularly hard day at the law firm in which he worked, and didn't get irritated with the twins except for when they broke things. By the looks of it, either Joel had brought his work home with him—which was likely considering the man was a criminal lawyer and that happened more often than not—or Thomas and Tristan had smashed something that belonged to the angry guy in the hallway.

Listening carefully, Amy kept her eyes on the ground as she tried to focus on what was being said outside. Unfortunately, the conversation was swallowed beneath the clatter and clangor going on inside the space that it was hard to make out more than a few words. Straining her hearing harder, Amy attempted to pick up on the heavy voice coming from the hallway, finally able to make out a chunk of words between the scraping of metal on marble.

"I need her, Joel. You and I both know she's in trouble if I'm here."

Frowning, Amy leaned further forward, hoping that the motion would be enough to help her decipher the exchange as Joel sighed heavily. Biting her lip in tension, Amy balled her fist around the handle of the door and furrowed her brow.

"I don't know about this, John. How do you know you're right?"

"I can't tell you that," the other voice, John, answered, sounding irritated.

Sighing again, Joel scoffed. "I can't let you take my daughter, John."

"She's not yours."

Swallowing hard as silence fell over the two, Amy stepped back, letting out a sharp breath. Who was this guy, and what was his sudden interest in _her_, of all people? Most of the time, Amy was overlooked for either being too tall, too shy, too studious, or too quiet, putting her at a disadvantage for both friendship or for generating any sort of attention. She liked to stay in the back corner of a room and watch people, which was a strange disposition when it came to her college major of drama, and especially odd now that some guy she had never seen before was trying to talk her father into letting her go somewhere with him.

However, there was something about the man that seemed familiar to her, as though she _had _seen him before somewhere, just a very long time ago. Chancing a look at him again, Amy saw that the guy, John, had something about him, a commanding presence, that made it hard for her to take her eyes off of him. The more she stared, risking being caught listening like Thomas and Tristan had, the more she couldn't help but try to place a finger on where she had seen the dark-haired man before.

Suddenly, Joel's voice startled Amy, causing her to gasp and slide back behind the door to listen. "John, I don't—"

"You have to trust me on this," John's low voice said, sounding tense and anxious, as though he hadn't expected having to convince anyone of his reasoning. "You have to let me take her. It's the only way. You know I'm right about this. You knew it would happen."

As quiet swelled, Amy let her eyes dart over the room, silently hoping that Joel would disagree with the man. Even though Amy was twenty years old and able to make her own decisions, there were still some things her parents had to sign off on, especially if money was involved. Despite the fact that Amy had a sizable trust in her name, she still needed to ask Joel and Jennifer to pay for trips and school, at least until she hit twenty-five and was able to cash in on the bond they had set up years ago. Unfortunately, it seemed like this, whatever _this _was, was another one of those things that had to be run by them, probably because going somewhere usually required funding. Ultimately, though, Amy was hoping this would be the one thing in a long line of yeses that Joel Forester would say no to.

"Alright," Joel said after a long moment. "If you need her, then you need her."

Swallowing hard, Amy's breath caught in her chest at the decision, causing her to step further back from the door to collect herself. What was going on? Why was this guy showing up right before her parents charity gala to whisk her away for some unknown reason? And _why_ was her father agreeing to it? Of all the things Joel had been able to say no to—hardened criminals asking him to take their case, Thomas and Tristan when they begged for a new car after crashing the first one they had been given on their sixteenth birthday, and so on—he had managed to cave under a man who was asking to take his daughter to some undisclosed location. Was he nuts? Or was there something she was missing?

Heading across the room to take a seat on the stage she had been trying to unwind her absorbed energy from, Amy stared at the ground as she walked, careful not to step on anything. Before she could get more than halfway, however, a voice called her back, causing her to whip around to see who was speaking. "Amy!"

Joel stood in the doorway, waving her toward him. About-facing, Amy headed back the way she had come, stalling a minute in the threshold as Joel lead the way out. Biting her lip, Amy rounded the corner to see John standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared at Joel, his hazel eyes hooded and tired. Tilting her head, Amy could see the familiarity again, but once more, couldn't place her finger on why.

Deciding to head off her unasked question, Joel stood between Amy and John, slumping his shoulders as though he now carried an invisible weight on them. "Amelia, I…" Furrowing her brow as he trailed off, Amy glanced between her father and the stranger, her mind trying to process what was going on while her heart hammered nervously in her chest. After a tense minute, Joel cleared his throat and continued. "I don't know how to tell you this, but there's something that needs to be said."

Searching his face, Amy swallowed hard. "What is it?"

"This man needs your help," Joel answered thickly. "He needs you to go somewhere with him for awhile. But he promises you'll be back before summer vacation's over." Sighing, Joel rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "It's kind of like a job. His job."

"What job?" Amy frowned, becoming annoyed with the way the conversation was progressing. "I-I don't understand. What's going on?" Glancing over at John, Amy could see that the man had his eyes on Joel, as though curious as to how he was going to explain the situation. Following his gaze, Amy let out a slow, calming breath in an attempt to keep her nerves from showing. "You can tell me, you know. I can take it."

"Okay," Joel nodded, clearing his throat and sniffling as though suddenly coming down with a cold as his eyes watered. "Amy, this is John… Winchester. He's your father."


	2. Chapter 1

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ONE

Forester Residence  
>Northbrook, Illinois<br>Friday, May 19, 2006  
>8:47 PM<p>

**G**lancing out the window of her second-story bedroom while she pretended to pack, Amy attempted to gather herself together, trying to process everything that was said in the ride home from the North Shore Hotel. It had been nearly silent while Joel Forester directed his Mercedes to the expansive house parked in the middle of a residential cul-de-sac, John Winchester's massive truck in tow as it rumbled behind them the whole way. As they passed buildings and parks that were dark and vacant, Amy had stared out at them, trying to keep her brain from running in circles. After a long moment, Joel had finally opened his mouth to speak, clearing his throat beforehand as a warning.

"You know I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important," he had said slowly. "But you need to trust me on this. For your father to show up now… it means something I can't even begin to share with you. Something you'll understand when the time comes. You just have to go with him for awhile. Until everything's okay again."

Frowning, Amy had sighed, furrowing her brow in confusion. For some reason, she didn't want to ask what was so important, probably afraid of the answer or the fact that he wouldn't tell her. Instead, she had clammed up and turned her attention to the overhead lights passing by, trying to relax in her chair as they pulled into the driveway. As soon as the car had stopped, Amy had waited for John to park behind them, not getting out until she saw the man behind them pop open the driver's side door. Standing up, it didn't take long for Amy to get the gist that she was to go inside and get ready to go while leaving the two men to talk.

As she glanced at them one more time before heading into the house, Amy could tell that whatever her two fathers were discussing, it was something grim. Joel's face looked heavy with distraught while John appeared as though he would rather be elsewhere. Swallowing hard, Amy shut the door behind her and leaned against it, taking in the oversized foyer that stretched out in front of her. She hadn't noticed upon first entering after arriving home from New Haven that things seemed different. The rug underneath her feet was new and looked as though Thomas and Tristan had already managed to track mud on it. The couch in the loft underneath the stairs had been refurbished, seemingly untouched since the fabric was still taught. Everything else in the oval-shaped room, however, was the same as ever, the bamboo floor still shiny and the black carpet on the stairs still covered with cat hair from that pesky Siamese Amy had only seen around once in a blue moon.

Taking a deep breath and heading for the steps, Amy climbed them slowly, trying to get her bearings on the situation. She had two dads standing outside, a real one and an adopted one, and had never imagined that the former would appear at any time in her life. When she was younger, when Joel and Jennifer had sat her down to let her know that the reason she had a different last name and hair color was because she wasn't their true child, Amy had initially been curious as to who her real parents were. However, after as much of a search as a twelve-year-old could do, Amy had given up trying to find them, not really giving her biological mother and father another thought and deciding that she already had all the guardianship she needed. In fact, in the eight years since then, Amy had discounted her real parents, figuring that she was better off that way.

Unfortunately, with John Winchester now standing outside on her front lawn appearing unhappy with his decision to finally show up, it seemed as though that sentiment was reciprocated. In the entirety of the five minutes the two had been left alone—when Joel went to retrieve his car keys from Thomas, who had decided to hang onto them until his father explained what was going on—John hadn't said anything, instead staring at Amy curiously as though she had been some sort of science experiment. The probing eyes had been uncomfortable, causing Amy to look down at her shoes and finally realize that her toes hurt from being crammed inside the small ballet flats.

Finally reaching the landing of the stairs, Amy headed straight for her bedroom at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind her as she took a seat on the bed. For some reason, she was having a hard time processing what was going on and the need for both men to be so secretive. She understood that maybe now was the time for her to meet her real father, she had heard and read stories before about adoptive children meeting their biological parents after eighteen, but to meet him and then leave with him without any explanation was unsettlingly odd. In addition to that, the only person who had shown up had been her father. What about her real mother? Where was she?

Getting up from the bed, Amy shot another look out the window before shutting the blinds and removing her dress, rooting around in her drawers for something more comfortable to wear. Slipping on jeans and a t-shirt, she then removed the tie from the bun in her hair, letting her brunette tresses fall over her shoulders. She had been meaning to get a haircut as soon as she returned home, something that was more manageable than the long locks that fell down her back, but it seemed as though that was going to have to wait.

Crossing over to the closet and pulling open the doors, the suitcases that she had packed back in her dorm room at Yale sat staring up at her, looking as though they were asking for a break from traveling and being kicked around in airport cargo holds. Picking up each of them to find whichever was the lightest, she threw one on the bed and unzipped it, finding piles of dirty clothes inside. Tossing them into the hamper, Amy rounded back to the dresser she had been searching though moments before, pulling out anything she could find that would be appropriate to wear on a trip with someone she hardly knew. Leaving the sundresses, most of the skirts, and heavy sweaters behind, Amy threw the rest into the purple hard-shell luggage before heading over to her bookcase and finding the list of books she had wanted to read during summer vacation. Pulling the available ones off the shelves and placing them neatly between the clothes, Amy sighed as she shut the lid, wondering if she would be able to get any of it done before school started again in August.

Finishing just as she heard footsteps making their way down the hallway, Amy frowned and pressed her hands against the metal casing, hoping that it looked as though she was doing something should anyone enter her room unannounced. Within a moment, the threshold to her bedroom opened to reveal Joel standing there, the shadow of an irritated expression on his face as he let the door drift open slowly.

"You ready to go?"

Biting her lip, Amy furrowed her brow as she looked at him. It was obvious that there had been an argument outside judging by the impression of a glare on his face, as well as the familiar redness of anger in his cheeks. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be alright," Joel grinned, reaching out a hand to place on Amy's shoulder.

Slumping under the grasp as her father tightened his grip, Amy remained still, basking in the safety it offered. It was clear that Joel didn't want his daughter to go, that he'd rather she stuck around pool-side with a book in her lap just like every year before, but it was also clear that there was a sense of purpose to her leaving—and though Amy didn't know what that purpose was, she felt as if she had to honor it, out of loyalty to Joel if nothing else.

Swallowing hard, Amy leaned out of the grasp to grab the suitcase off the bed, placing it on the carpet and pulling up the handlebar. Nodding in acceptance, Joel stepped aside to let Amy lead the way out, carrying her luggage for her when they reached the stairs. Stopping at the door and placing her hand on the knob, Amy paused for a moment to turn to her father as he placed the suitcase down on the hardwood floor. Joel's eyes were red and rimmed with sadness, looking just like he had the first day Amy had gone off to school in Connecticut. Though the university was only a plane ride away, both Joel and Jennifer had been emotional when it came to her leaving, acting as though she wouldn't return for winter, spring, and summer breaks.

Grinning at the memory despite herself, Amy looked up at Joel. "You know I'll be back, right? I'm not planning on running away with the guy. He seems kind of scary."

Chuckling at her words, Joel bent forward to give her a hug, his tall, lanky frame feeling bony with the embrace. Breaking apart, Amy reached for her suitcase and pulled open the door, finding John Winchester leaning against his truck in the dark. Heading out, Amy neared him cautiously, feeling his eyes on her, before glancing back at the open archway housing Joel Forester as he stood inside.

"Tell Thomas and Tristan I'll be back to see them off for school," Amy muttered to Joel, just loudly enough for him to hear. Though she wasn't entirely convinced of it, she had a feeling the thought would cheer him up. At the grin he shot her, Amy could tell she was right as she continued backward down the walkway. "I'll see you guys soon."

"You ready?" John asked suddenly, his low, gravely voice startling her.

Gasping in surprise, Amy let her hair whip her face as she turned around to face him, noticing that John was now holding the passenger's side door open for her. Swallowing hard and feeling strangely awkward, Amy nodded and closed in on the car, placing her suitcase in the backseat through the gap between the chairs. Standing on the running boards of the truck and leaning against the door, Amy stared up at the house for a long moment and took in the modern-style structure. She hadn't realized until then how big and full of windows the place truly was, seeming to swallow Joel's frame in the threshold as though he were nothing but a stick figure in a dollhouse.

Suddenly, the rumble of the truck's engine caused Amy to falter, almost slipping into the driveway from where she hovered above it. Tightly grasping the roof of the car, Amy slid into the passenger's seat as John sat waiting for her to take her spot. Shutting the door behind her, Amy gazed through the window, taking a deep breath in through her nose and catching the scent of the interior, noticing that it smelled like pizza and burnt sage. Bunching her jaw at the mixed odor while John began to reverse the car out onto the street, Amy waved sadly at Joel in the doorway as he watched her and John begin to leave.

"I didn't want to do this," John said slowly as he placed the truck in drive. "I didn't think it would come to this."

Biting her lip, Amy racked her brain for something to say, finally arriving at the only thing she could manage, "That's okay. I don't mind."

Nodding in acceptance, though obviously dubious based on the sidelong glance he shot her, John leaned back in his seat as he directed the truck toward the freeway. As he drove, Amy took the chance to scan his features, or as much of them as she could see in the dark. The longer she stared at him, the more she could tell he truly was her father, from the mass of dark hair to the same oval face. Though his eyes were darker and hooded with exhaustion, Amy could see a similarity there, as well as in their noses—despite the fact that, judging by the bumps in the bridge, John's had been broken a fair few times.

However, there were extreme differences in them as well, from appearance to attitude. John's build was muscular and solid, whereas Amy was tall and slender, though that could be due to the fact that they were of opposite gender. From the first moments they had been together, Amy had also noticed that John seemed short-tempered and impatient, and even though he was trying to be nice, she could tell that the wait he had to endure while Amy packed had been considered a waste of time based on the speed at which he was driving.

As they merged onto the ninety-four freeway heading east, Amy let her gaze switch from the driver's side of the vehicle to out the window. She had seen the passing signs many times, more recently on a trip to the Glenview Country Club to meet a friend during Spring Break, and had nearly memorized most of the exits. Passing the Tower Road off ramp, Amy let her mind wonder where they were going and why, knowing that there were a handful of cities in the direction they were headed. Seeming to pick up on the silent question, John cleared his throat, catching Amy's attention.

"There's something in Chicago that I need to take care of, then we can go."

Biting her lip, Amy nodded, not sure whether or not to ask what he needed to do. Instead, she turned her eyes onto the road, noticing that the freeway was empty this time of night. Letting the signs fall into the rearview mirror, Amy watched each, making a mental note of the places they had passed on their way into "Chi-Town". Finally, after a long moment, they came to the point at which the ninety-four mixed with Interstate-90, meaning that it wouldn't be long before the awkward silence was interrupted by curiosity.

Coasting off the freeway, John pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. Raising an eyebrow and wondering whether or not they were stopping for coffee before heading elsewhere, Amy bunched her jaw and looked at John, who nodded toward the restaurant.

"I want you to stay here. I'll be back for you."

Swallowing hard, Amy checked her back pockets for her card wallet and cell phone before sliding out of the car. As soon as she slammed the door behind her, the truck took off down the road, tearing out of the lot in a hurry. Letting out a deep breath, Amy glanced inside the diner, noticing that hardly anyone was inside except for a woman in her late fifties and a waitress bussing the bar. Nodding to herself, to attempt to gather courage if nothing else, Amy bit her lip and headed inside.

_Well, this is weird._


	3. Chapter 2

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWO

Microtel Inn & Suites  
>Minneapolis, Minnesota<br>Thursday, May 25, 2006  
>12:17 PM<p>

**F**rom the moment John Winchester had returned to the diner in Chicago, Amy had known she wasn't about to embark on a normal trip during summer vacation. John had been beaten and bloody, most of it soaked up in his black wool overcoat, with cuts across his face and bruises threatening to form under his skin. As he headed into the small restaurant in which Amy sat in the back of, she could tell that whatever he had been doing prior to arrival, it hadn't been anything as simple as picking up a few things from an apartment or saying goodbye to someone like she had originally thought.

In fact, while she sat there, Amy had spent more time thinking rather than anything else, letting the smell of cooked food rumble her stomach while she stared out the window. It was clear that John wasn't much of a talker, something they shared, meaning that he wasn't about to open his mouth and spill his guts over what he had been doing there and what he needed her for. She had overheard him and Joel speaking in the hallway about asking for her help, but as to why was never revealed, leaving that question still hanging in the air, as well as a few thousand others. Though her mind was riddled with things she wanted to know, things that she was curious about, Amy knew she didn't have the gull to ask. John had the likeness of a grizzly bear, and Amy had a feeling that anything she inquired about was likely to put him on the attack. Instead, she did all she could do and silently wondered about him—where he was from, who his family was, if he was married, and so on.

After slumping into the seat across from her and looking more tired than she had ever seen anyone appear, he had ordered a coffee from their gawking waitress and sat forward on his side of the booth, staring at the black liquid for some time. Not saying anything, Amy kept her eyes on him, noticing that he was clearly upset judging by the way he was glaring downward. A long moment passed before he got up to go, dropping a five dollar bill on the table and beckoning for Amy to follow. Doing so, they got in the truck and peeled out of the parking lot, a heaviness filling the cabin of the vehicle that felt suffocating as they made their way hurriedly toward the freeway heading west.

By the time they were on the main interstate, Amy began to feel crushed by the thickness of the air inside the car. Cracking the window a little, she let the cool breeze filter in from outside, whipping loudly at the speed in which they were driving. At the motion, John seemed to relax a little, shooting Amy a sad smile out of the corner of his mouth as she sat rigidly in the passenger's seat.

"You like music?" he had asked after a long moment, waiting until they had passed Arlington Heights to speak.

Uncertain how to answer, Amy had simply nodded. "Yeah, some."

Returning the gesture, John reached forward to punch on the stereo, the sound of a tape overturning in the deck making a clicking noise before starting up. Amy immediately recognized the song as one from Joel's numerous record collections that he had been intent on listening to every time he had taken to fixing something in his study. As he worked on the filing system in his home office or tried to reformat his work computer's hard drive, the sounds of _Houses of the Holy _or _Foreigner 4_ could be heard through the closed door. It seemed as though John operated on the same system, jabbing on _Physical Graffiti_ as he drove and letting the music clear the awkward silence that was gathering.

Though Amy didn't know any of the song titles, and only recognized the album by its single, the familiarity with it caused her to relax into the seat, reminded of the times the muffled versions of the songs would play from downstairs, filling the house with the volume. As she thought about it, staring out the window to read the passing signs and peer into other cars as the truck barreled past them, Amy could feel a pang in her heart as she thought about her family. She had no idea how long she would be on the road with John, or even whether or not she would be back in time for school to start at the tail end of August, despite the fact that Joel claimed John had promised, and that uncertainty caused her to long for home. Usually, she hated being in the dark about things, preferring to know approximate dates and times rather than guessing. It helped set up a structure in which she could schedule things, and helped her know what she was doing beforehand. However, she recognized that this trip, or whatever it was, had been spawned out of spontaneity rather than anything else, judging by the way John had shown up an hour before one of the Foresters' major events, and that not even her OCD-like habits could put a timetable on what was happening, or where they were likely to be headed and when they would arrive.

Running her hands through her hair absently, Amy stared down at the frayed ends as they flopped to the side, hoping that she would be able to fix the mangy mess by the time they stopped somewhere for more than an hour. Slumping further into the seat, she pressed her shoulders into the padded backing and waited for the moment they pulled off the road.

Ultimately, that moment didn't arrive until early the next morning. Pulling into a motel not far from what appeared to be a major city, Amy had stirred awake in the passenger's seat to find John gone. Alarmed at first, she had looked around to find him inside a check-in office, talking to one of the guys and putting on a smile Amy had yet to see. Grabbing a pair of keys from the clerk, John had headed out to the truck, not explaining much as he reparked the car outside of a pair of rooms and handing her a key. Looking at the number, she had seen that she had her own room, though what they were doing there was still a question looming overhead. By the looks of it, this was simply a rest stop between destinations, and with John's exhausted eyes, it appeared as though that wasn't such a bad idea. However, as soon as she had gone inside, the adjoining door between their rooms had been propped open as John tiredly lumbered in with a large bag of something resembling crystals. Pouring some of the contents in a line beneath the window after shutting the curtains, then in a circle around the door, he had finally set the sack down to speak, gazing at her as though he expected her to open her mouth and begin questioning him.

"I need you to stay put for a few days," he said after a long minute. "Just until I get back. I'll leave you some money for food. Don't invite anyone inside, not even the maid service. I'll be back soon."

Bunching her jaw, Amy furrowed her brow in curiosity, but didn't ask for more information. Instead, she nodded obediently, wondering what use she could be staying inside a motel while John went off elsewhere. He had said he needed her for something, but still hadn't specified what. Rather than expecting him to explain, she waited patiently, hoping he would give her more details whenever he returned.

Unfortunately, it had been nearly a week since then, causing her to be thankful for the books she had packed in her suitcase prior to leaving her house. As she whittled the hours away engrossing herself in _Life at the Bottom of the World _by Jacques Cousteau and _Rats Saw God _by Rob Thomas, she paused occasionally to check her cell phone for messages or to make her way across the lot to the diner sitting at the edge of the motel's parking area. Taking her food to go, heeding John's words that she were to stay inside the room, she returned inside and locked the door before turning on the TV to try to find something decent to watch. After the first few days of the routine, Amy had become comfortable with it, wondering how long it would be before John came back to interrupt it. She was fine staying inside the motel, cleaning up when the space became too messy to handle, and spending most of her time getting her reading list out of the way.

However, by the time Thursday rolled around, the five novels Amy had grabbed on her way out had become finished, leaving her with not much else to do except for stare blankly at the television. Though there was more on during the day other than _Springer _and _Judge Judy_, thankfully due to the fact that the motel offered free HBO, there were only so many times she could watch _War of the Worlds _and _Batman Begins _before she began to memorize them line for line. Glancing at the clock, Amy could see that it was already past noon, meaning that she either had the option of heading to the diner for food or trying to flip through the TV for something interesting to tune into.

Sliding forward on the bed to mess with the knobs on the television, since the old set didn't have a remote and required hands-on channel changing, Amy jerked the knob to the left and allowed it to correct itself before deeming whatever was on the screen unwatchable. By the time she made a full circle, there hadn't been much there to see, causing her to turn it off out of slight frustration. Sitting with her legs crossed, Amy tapped her fingers against her knees in an absent rhythm as she looked around for something to do, hoping that maybe she had missed a book that had fallen on the floor. When nothing came up, she slumped her shoulders and glared toward the bathroom portion of the room.

The lights were on overhead, shining brightly as a source of illumination in the dark space. Under John's order, Amy had left the drapes closed, not bothering to touch them or look out in case he came back to see them cracked open. Though Amy could tell the guy wasn't one who was likely to explode on her _yet_, not like Jennifer Forester whenever something went awry, years of having to listen to someone's constant ranting about things being displaced had caused Amy to become cautious of changing things around. There had been a time when she was younger, having been ordered to watch Thomas and Tristan while their parents went out of town, that they had moved the coffee table in the living room back in order to sit closer to the television as they played video games. As soon as Joel and Jennifer returned from Indianapolis, the furniture not having been repositioned, Jennifer had blown a gasket, checking the surface of the polished wood for scratches and dings. Since then, barring a few more related incidents, Amy had been cautious when it came to doing anything against any type of order, expecting to get an ear-full should things go awry.

Clearing her throat and kicking away the memory, Amy let her eyes wonder closer to the television, eventually falling on the door between her room and John's. She hadn't been inside since he had left, wanting to give him privacy despite the fact that he wasn't there, but hadn't been told to stay out. In fact, the threshold between them was wide open, having been abandoned that way after John had dumped whatever was on the floor and leaving soon following. Knowing that it was most likely wrong to enter, and would probably garner her more incensed words than just moving the curtain sealing the window off, Amy couldn't help but become curious as to what was inside. In all honesty, most of that wonderment had stemmed from wanting to find out whatever it was that was shining up at her from the floor, hoping the bag had been left behind with a label to tell her whether or not John had poured something dangerous onto the carpet.

Getting slowly to her feet, Amy let her toes dig into the floor as she stood between the bed and the television, debating whether or not to go in. Though she was curious, she didn't know if it was worth breaking trust before it could be built. Heading into the man's room prior to either of them setting up some form of boundaries would most likely lead to her feeling guilty by the time he returned. However, John hadn't been inside his own space for longer than an hour, probably taking the same pre-emptive measures, or whatever that was, with the area around the doors and windows as he had with her room. It was possible, or even probable, that nothing was inside, meaning that her short venture in would lead to nothing but seeing the same single-bed, two-dresser layout of her room mirrored without having been touched and cluttered with luggage.

Swallowing hard, Amy nodded to herself before taking a step forward, walking gingerly as though to prevent the padding of her bare feet on carpet from being heard. As soon as she reached the open doorway, Amy bit her lip and gazed inside, noticing that it was exactly as she had assumed—made and unmixed. The bed hadn't been sat on, the chair not moved, and the drawers still shut. Looking around the room, Amy frowned at the emptiness of it before turning to go.

Ultimately, right as she was about to head back to her own side, something sitting on the small dresser beside the bed caught her eye. Narrowing her gaze, Amy could see that it was a thin wallet similar to the one she used to carry her credit cards and a tiny bit of cash—slight and slim enough to fit in her back pocket. Furrowing her brow and tapping her fingers against the doorframe in thought, she stared at the black leather as it sat open on the table, the glare from the bathroom light preventing whatever was inside from being seen.

Letting out a deep breath, Amy stepped gingerly over the threshold and crossed to the nightstand, reaching forward slowly as though she expected moving it would set off an alarm. Pulling it from where it had been thrown, she glanced down at the ID behind the clear window, seeing the bright blue letters spelling out FBI beside a DMV-quality picture of John. Below was a gold shield with Department of Justice engraved beneath a bald eagle. Biting her lip, Amy gazed deeper into the credentials, noticing that the signature on the badge was scribbled and illegible, though the rest of it appeared legitimate—or as legitimate as she could imagine having never seen one before.

Placing the badge back where she found it, positioning it almost exactly the way it had been lying and hoping John wouldn't remember how he had left it, Amy began to pull open drawers in case there were any other hints as to John's true cause hidden within the room. Curiosity now on overdrive, despite the feeling in her stomach telling her she was in the wrong, she slid open dressers, checked under the bed, and looked through cabinets before turning to scamper out of the room and back into her own. Though there wasn't any sign that John was back, no jangling of keys to tell her someone was trying to open the door, she couldn't help but feel paranoid that he would know she had been inside, as though he had some sort of sense about it.

Sitting against the headboard of her bed, Amy pushed her shoulders into the flimsy wood and crossed her legs again, tapping her fingers absently. The badge explained some things, though not much. If John was FBI and he needed her help with something, it was possible the bureau was reaching out for assistance on a case—albeit that sounded unlikely. What he had said out in the hall inside of the North Shore Hotel was that he was there to protect her and that it was important, which might mean that someone was after her. However, who that could be or why was a mystery. Amy had never had many friends, nor enemies, nor seemed to leave a lasting impression on anyone. If there was a person after her, it wasn't for any reason she could think of—unless it was happenstance, which explained even less. What it did explain, though, was that John had a legitimate reason for picking her up and taking her on a strange vacation. The reason why, whatever it was, was probably going unsaid to keep her from overreacting to the information.

Sighing, Amy reached up to grab a lock of hair, twisting it between her fingers. While she was sure she would be able to swallow whatever was going on without freaking out, she was also sure that John didn't know her well enough to figure that out for himself. It was possible that Joel knew, but Amy was certain that would she ask, she wasn't going to get much more of an explanation from him. This thing, this case, was probably something that was disclosed between the people who had to know—or that's how it was in movies, anyway. But if that was what was happening, why had John disappeared as soon as they arrived in, according to the motel stationary, Minneapolis rather than sticking around. If he was protecting her, then why leave? Unless he thought the semi-circle on the floor was helping do his job for him, then she wasn't there because she needed protection. Crystalline shapes didn't do anything by lie there.

Shaking her head and kicking the thought away, Amy got to her feet and rounded the bathroom to where her shoes had landed the night before. Slipping on the flip-flops, despite it being somewhat cold for summer in Minnesota, Amy reached for her card wallet and room key before stepping over the white line and slipping out for lunch.


	4. Chapter 3

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THREE

Microtel Diner  
>Minneapolis, Minnesota<br>Monday, June 19, 2006  
>8:48 AM<p>

**I**t had been three weeks since Amy had last seen John Winchester. Three long weeks of wondering whether or not he was okay, or if he had simply dumped her off at the Microtel Inn & Suites in Minneapolis to let her stew in her juices—or if he had gotten reassigned and forgot about the girl he had gone to retrieve in Northbrook, thinking that maybe she would find her own way home as soon as she caught on to his absentmindedness.

In that time, which had ticked away slowly as she checked the clock between old TV reruns and Hallmark Channel movies, Amy had begun to grow bored with her motel arrangement, pondering the idea of slipping away to the Mall of America or some other attraction to pass the days on the calendar. However, every time she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her keys, she was always pulled back by the idea of John returning to find her room empty without a note or any indication as to where she had gone. Instead, after kicking off her sandals and replacing the key on the hook, she settled back behind the television, hoping that by that time tomorrow, she would be awoken by John making noise on the other side of the wall.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times she kept that thought it mind, the wishful thinking never happened. Every morning—or as much of morning as she could manage, anyway—she checked the digital numbers on the bedside table, realizing that noon had come and gone and there were still no signs of John Winchester's return. Getting in the shower, almost like clockwork, she prepared to head to the diner across the lot, settling at a booth in the farthest corner and talking with whichever waitress came around to take her order. By the time the second week had ended, she had known every one by name, and even some small tidbits of information about them—if they went to school, if they had kids, and so on.

Although she had previously settled into the routine of reading, catching a few shows on television, then heading out to grab some food before hiding away, the monotony of the schedule had grown dull by the time a fortnight had passed. Despite the fact that Amy had never been a particularly energetic person, preferring to spend her days poolside or indoors while she dove into a novel, the idea of being trapped in a twelve-by-fourteen room with a black-and-white television and no one to talk to between chapters was beginning to make her feel lonely. Even her calls home had gone unanswered and unreturned, causing her to wonder whether or not her family had forgotten about her all the way around.

Deciding that she needed something to do, something that might mix up the sameness of getting up at noon only to spend her day parked in front of whatever the original movie of the week was, Amy had headed into the diner at the edge of the lot in search of food and coming out with a new job. One of the servers, Andrea, had gone on maternity leave a week before, leaving the place short-staffed, and since Amy had nothing else keeping her busy, she had offered to lend a helping hand. Ecstatic that someone was applying for the position of waitress, especially since tourist season was on the rise—which Amy didn't see considering the motel was so far from the main metropolis and the oversized mall that seemed to allure visitors from all walks of life—Irene hadn't bothered to ask for a resume, instead hiring Amy on the spot.

"You're in here every day, anyway," she had said, combing her frizzy red hair back with a brush the size of Amy's hand. "I was always wondering what you were up to in that motel room of yours. Thought you might be bored in there."

Grinning to herself, Amy hadn't said anything in return, only allowing Irene to show her around the diner and introduce her to the crew in the kitchen. When they were finished, Amy had accepted the ugly pink-and-brown uniform the older woman had handed her, trying not to make a face at the polka dot pattern on the sewn-in apron. Promising that she would be back the next day at nine sharp—since apparently Andrea had always worked from nine to five on weekdays and didn't accept any changes in her schedule—Amy had gone back to her room in an attempt to sleep, only becoming caught up in the finally-returned phone call from her mother, who didn't approve of Amy taking a waitress job, no matter how bored she was.

"Our family isn't in the service industry, Amelia," Jennifer had scolded. "We don't clean up after people unless we're paid highly for it. I didn't appoint for you to get into Yale just for you to throw it away talking to truckers and listening to babies cry. I worked that way for years, Amelia, don't regress my progress."

Rolling her eyes, Amy had taken the reprimand in stride before finally catching a few hours of rest. By the time she arrived at the diner, spending most of her morning searching through her still-unpacked suitcase looking for sneakers to wear, the place had been in full-swing, with no one to help show her the ropes aside from a busy woman named Catherine who had been working from midnight on. Irritated and tired, Catherine hadn't done much but snap at her and point to where things went, giving Amy the feeling that she was going to have to learn how to do the job on her own.

Thankfully, after a week of balancing plates and scrubbing tables, she had finally gotten the hang of it, even well enough to be taught how to use the cash register. Feeling a sense of pride in figuring out something for herself, and not being chastised more than a few times for accidentally placing the wrong plates on the wrong tables, Amy hadn't minded having to get up every day to put on a hideous outfit and tolerate the "freighters", as the liked to be called, when they came in and wolf-whistled at her. After awhile, when she noticed that a group of them had been long-time regulars, she had discovered that the men who hounded after her were only playing around, flashing the wedding rings on their fingers and making conversation. Although they all weren't like that, it was a nice majority to give Amy enough of a comfort level to casually talk back.

However, the easy work and the steady pay could only hold out for so long. By the time Amy woke up on a morning toward the end of the third week, she had been startled by the sound of a door slamming and keys jangling in the next room. Bolting for the adjoining threshold, Amy found John Winchester standing by the window, sifting through a duffle bag with a sour look on his face. Frowning, Amy had a feeling that her new routine was about to go south and that they were headed elsewhere. When the alarm sounded at eight, startling both of them as though making each other aware of their presence, John had told her to pack up and get ready to go, giving as much details as with his first appearance, though snapping them this time around. Filling him in that she now had a job, John had glared at her for a minute, causing Amy to squirm under his stare, before scowling and telling her to resign, a mutter that he had told her to stay put escaping his mouth.

With no choice but to do so, especially if she didn't want to be scolded, Amy had crossed the lot to give Irene the bad news, only to be met with sadness as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth. Amy knew she was leaving the place high and dry, telling the woman that no one would be in to cover the rush-hour shift while she went off to greener pastures. However, unlike John's bad mood, Irene had given Amy a small smile as she took cash out of the register to cover her earnings for the past week since payday.

Returning to the room, Amy gathered her things, trying to retrieve everything that had been lodged behind the bed or under the dresser in the month since moving in. As she worked on fishing out books that had found their way behind the TV stand, digging clothes out from the bottom of drawers, and piling them all back inside her suitcase, the sound of John grumbling next door could be heard. Craning her hearing out of curiosity, she could only hear one side of a conversation, seemingly a phone call—unless John talked to himself, for which she couldn't be certain.

"You're sure you saw them?" John mumbled, scratching his grizzled beard as he passed the archway between their rooms.

Tuning out the one-way discussion, Amy finished discovering volumes that had managed to be kicked under the mattress and zipped up her suitcase, wondering who or what John could be talking about. Though it was possible she would find out soon, either through listening to his call or by being told, she wasn't curious enough to break his privacy. If he was trying to talk something over with a partner or his superior or whomever, that wasn't her business until he made it her business. Until then, she was better off shoving her things into the car to make it easier for them to leave for whatever destination was next. Hopefully, though she hated herself for thinking so, the next place he would be taking her would be back to Northbrook so that she could put the month-in-a-motel stint in her rearview mirror.

Frowning at the idea of cutting her vacation away from home short, especially if John had shown up because he needed her for something more than a room-warmer, Amy pulled open the door and headed out into the parking lot, finding the black truck sitting in the stall directly in front of her. Slipping her suitcase into the backseat, and finding it now loaded with piles of peeling hard-cover books, Amy stood on the running boards and stared out at the road. As much as she didn't mind going somewhere during summer break, the idea of never having a stable schedule bothered her. One moment she was in Minnesota without any kind of phone call or warning from John, the next she was being ordered by him to get ready to go with hardly any notice. The spontaneous speeding off wasn't something she was likely to become adjusted to, especially when she was used to structured vacations where everything had been planned out months in advance.

When she was younger, before Yale and dormitories and roommates who never stuck to any kind of agenda, Joel and Jennifer had often taken Amy and the twins to places most people only dreamed of going to. One year is was the Bahamas, then another year Bermuda, then London and Tokyo. However, before embarking on an airplane or settling into a hotel, the trip had been detailed down to the last minute, meaning that everything they were doing from the time they woke up to the time they went to bed was penciled in. Having never known anything else, especially any kind of impulsiveness, Amy had assumed the idea that everything was to be prearranged and organized, leaving nothing to chance. Being with John, and the belief that everything seemed spur-of-the-moment and unsaid, gave Amy the feeling that she would rather be at home relaxing instead of on some adventure lead by someone she barely knew and for a reason she didn't understand.

Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming shut to her right caused Amy to jolt herself out of her thoughts. Glancing down at John as he closed off his own motel room, then held his hands out for the key in Amy's grasp, she watched as he caught the small piece of metal with ease before heading off for the check-in office at the corner of the building. Figuring that he would be back soon, Amy sighed and slipped into the cabin of the truck, leaving the door open so that fresh air could clean out the smell of dirty laundry and stale hamburgers.

By the time John was back on the driver's side, Amy could tell that his agitated appearance had faded, now replaced with one of hardened determination. Whoever he was going after, judging by the snippet of conversation she had heard, was probably someone who had slipped out from under his watchful eye. If the guy was FBI, which Amy believed him to be due to the badge she had found in his room, then it was possible that he was trying to track someone down, possibly someone on the Most Wanted list.

Pushing the thought away as John backed his truck out of the stall, Amy kept her gaze fixed on the diner as it passed. Inside, the place was bustling as the three women on hand, Catherine, Irene, and Brenda, fluttered from table to table, placing hot plates down before whirling around to take a new customer's order. Smiling sadly at the restaurant as it became smaller in the side mirror, Amy settled into the seat and stared straight ahead, finally noticing that music had been turned on to break up the silence.

"_Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years. With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear_…"


	5. Chapter 4

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FOUR

Tony's Café at Daze Inn  
>Louisville, Kentucky<br>Monday, June 19, 2006  
>3:35 PM<p>

**A**s soon as John had pulled his truck into the lot of the Louisville Lodge, Amy had a feeling this stop on whatever Magical Mystery Tour they were taking was about to make a sharp turn. Getting out of the car and heading straight for the office, he had emerged with a set of keys and a determined glare, his cell phone attached to his ear as he walked a handful of doors over to open room number eight. Following him, and carrying both of their bags out of courtesy for him paying for their stay, Amy had gone straight inside, only catching a small snippet of what was being said on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, I heard," John grumbled before shutting his side of the pair of rooms off, though his voice was still audible through the thin walls. "We're caught up. I'll call you if I need you."

From there, everything had been silent as Amy took a seat on the king-sized bed taking up most of the space. As she eyed the cowboy-style décor, even noting that the drawer pulls looked like bull horns, the sound of heavy equipment being dropped on the floor came from next door. Biting her lip, Amy wondered how long it would be before John took off again, curious as to whether he would say goodbye this time rather than just leaving. However, as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the adjoining door between them was pulled open, following the sound of her name being mumbled.

Getting up from her perch, Amy had crossed the threshold into John's room cautiously, silently doubting that she had heard herself being beckoned. Thankfully, the moment she was fully inside, John had nodded approvingly before sitting down at the chair underneath the window.

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here," John said finally, the long moment of silence stretching out between them. "You're probably wondering why I decided to show up after all this time." Pausing as he waited for her to nod slowly and sit down, John kept his heavy eyes on Amy, a slight irritation hidden behind them. "Truth is, I need something done, and it's not something I can do by myself."

Furrowing her brow, Amy took a small breath before digging the heel of her hand into her knee, as though hoping the rough movement would keep her from jumping at the chance to answer. John seemed like the type who didn't commend excitement or rash decisions, and, judging by his dark stare, didn't approve of having to wait for a response, either. Torn between the two, Amy simply sighed.

"What do you need?"

Grinning in relief, a rare appearance based on his usually stony nature, John reached inside his pocket to retrieve a Polaroid that had been creased and covered with grime throughout the years it had undoubtedly been shoved inside the wool coat Amy had yet to see him take off. Handing it forward and getting to his feet at the same time, she watched as he headed for a duffle bag across the room, speaking as he moved.

"There are two men I need you to watch," John said. "They're dangerous and armed. I wouldn't normally ask a civilian to do this, but I can't watch them as closely as I would like to. That's what I need you for. Someone they don't know."

Biting her lip in thought, Amy glanced down at the photograph in her hand. The two men, who appeared more like teenagers than anything else, were both tall with differing shades of brown hair and green eyes. The more taper of the pair, who seemed to be the youngest, had a mess of tousled locks that fell into his eyelashes, while the other had a cut that looked more military-style. Staring deeper into the picture, it was clear that the two were related by the shape of the jaw and their cleft chins, as well as their similar, musical builds. Flipping the Polaroid over, a date had been scrawled on the back in blocky handwriting, barely legible in faded ink: _February '02_.

Placing the photograph down on the table John had abandoned, Amy glanced up at him. Across the room, the man was sifting through something deep inside his bag, as though trying to find something he lost. Finally, after a long moment, a heavy object at the bottom came loose, causing John to grin again, this time triumphantly. In his hands he held a thick book, the cover of it faded, peeling, and aged as he flipped it back to sift through the yellowed pages. While he did so, Amy took her eyes off of the volume to stare at the floor.

Part of her wanted to ask him what the men had done to get the attention of the FBI or whoever he worked for, while another part of her told her that though he had asked for her help, it still wasn't her business to pry. Instead, she did what her father, Joel, would have wanted her to do and waited for John to bring her up to speed. Although she knew it was a possibility that the only information she was going to get out of him was what he had already said, it wasn't Amy's right to ask for more than what he had given. It was a discipline both Joel and Jennifer had instilled in her, that she wasn't to ask for things unless they were being handed out and that trying to attain more than she had already been bestowed was considerably greedy on her part.

Suddenly, after a long moment, John looked up from the book and recrossed to the table, absently shoving the picture back in his pocket. Seemingly lost in his own train of thought, Amy sat back on the bed and crossed her legs, wondering whether or not John was through with his briefing of her. As though to answer her question, John glanced at her and furrowed his brow curiously, apparently forgetting she had been there while he became emerged with whatever had been in his hands.

"You want me to watch someone," Amy reminded him after a minute.

"Right," John nodded, placing the tome down and flipping open his cell phone. "They're staying at the Daze Inn two streets over. In the lot, there's a diner. Do what you were doing in Minnesota, but don't use your real name. Pick an alias and stick with it."

Nodding in acceptance, Amy gazed up at John as though waiting for more information before noticing that the old volume was back in his hands. Getting to her feet and heading back into her own room, she immediately reached for her card wallet, motel key, and mobile, placing all three into different pockets and heading out the door. The parking space outside of the room was nothing more than a square of gravel, with slots marked into the cement walkway that made up the porch. Five spaces down sat John's black truck, the sound of the cooling engine clicking every now and again audible over the sparse traffic.

In all her life, Amy had never imagined going to Louisville, mainly because the city near the northwestern edge of Kentucky didn't interest her. While she understood the appeal of the Louisville Cardinals, the Highlands she had read about, and the Kentucky Derby, none of it had given her much pause aside from a momentary thought whenever she watched _Elizabethtown_. However, now that she stared out at it, she could see that the city was more than baseball, shopping districts, and horse races.

As she walked down the road toward the Daze Inn John had mentioned, and figuring he wasn't going to give her a ride seeing as his head was buried in a book, dandelions lined the road, swaying in the hot breeze as it pushed past her. Up ahead, decaying houses punctuated each sides of the street, giving the isolated stretch of highway a sense of history. Making her way past them, Amy eyed the blackened structures, imagining that they had been there during the Civil War or the like, and had simply been forgotten by their owners as time progressed. Reminding herself to find a book about the area, and frowning at not thinking of this sooner while she had been in Minneapolis, Amy carried on until she saw the diner sitting at the edge of the other motel's lot.

Walking more hurriedly the closer she came to the front entrance, Amy glanced around nervously before pulling open the door, hoping not to encounter the two men she had been asked to watch first off. Seeing no sign of them as she crossed over to the counter, Amy took a seat on one of the stools near the register at the end of the L-shaped bar, wishing someone would appear soon. The restaurant was deserted, both of people and wait staff, causing her to wonder whether or not the place would hire her due to slowness alone. Swallowing hard out of nervousness, Amy grabbed for the menu propped up between the salt and pepper shakers and flipped it open, pretending to be reading while she eyed the restaurant.

The space looked almost exactly like the Microtel Diner, with the exception that it seemed the one at the edge of the Daze Inn's lot was larger. The booths were the same McDonald's quality, with hard backs offering no padding and the same violent colors. The floor was a dull gray that was scuffed in places from work boots rubbing it the wrong way, as were the tabletops that seemed as though they could use some disinfectant. The countertop in front of her, as well as the chairs she sat on, were the off-white of Formica that had clearly discolored over the years, though appeared much cleaner than the tables, almost as if no one had sat where she had in quite some time.

All of a sudden, a voluptuous redhead, with a bustline twice the size of Amy's own swelling chest, emerged through the swinging doors to the kitchen, smelling heavily of cigarettes and looking as though she didn't approve of her break being interrupted by a customer. Reaching inside the small apron slung around her curvy hips and just below the black t-shirt whose green writing stretched out over her breasts, the woman poised a pen over an ordering pad, frowning as she spoke.

"What'll you have?"

"A job, hopefully," Amy sighed, giving the woman a small, uncertain smile. Getting nothing but a scowl back in return, Amy glanced down at the menu and rambled off the first thing she saw. "Bacon cheeseburger."

"You want fries?"

"Uh, sure," Amy nodded, biting her lip. "And a Coke, if you have it."

"Of course we do," the redhead scowled with an eye roll, scribbling down the order and slapping it on the stainless steel countertop leading to the kitchen behind her. As soon as an overweight man's hand grabbed the small sheet, the woman turned around to face Amy, her hands on her hips as she sized up the girl in front of her. "You said you were looking for a job, right? And you meant _here_?"

"Hopefully," Amy sighed, placing the menu back between the shakers. "I'm new in town and needing something to do between classes at the university," she lied slowly, glancing up at the woman as though to make sure she was buying the fib. "I figured it might pass the time and give me a little cash while I'm at it."

"You're kind of far from the school, hun," the redhead said, warming up a little to Amy after she spoke and giving her a small smile. "You're kind of far from everything, actually. I think you'd be better off working at the bookstore or whatever it is you college kids do. I wouldn't know."

"Never been?" Amy asked, hoping to make the curiosity in her voice sound sincere as she gazed up at the woman who towered over her sitting position. At a nod, Amy shrugged her shoulders, lying again. "It's not that great."

"How sweet of you," the woman scoffed, becoming an ice queen once again.

Biting her lip, Amy tapped her fingers absently on the countertop, feeling the cool material under the tip of her digits. It was obvious that this woman was temperamental, seeming to go from hot to cold within the five minutes Amy had been conversing with her. Though she was used to that, having lived with Jennifer Forester and her similar fluctuating attitude, Amy had also taken enough acting classes to know how to pretend unaffected by the change. While away at Yale, and before that, she had undergone weeks of camps based solely on harboring and harnessing emotions, as well as the proper way to keep a blank face despite the need to break character and laugh. Although she wasn't about to crack a grin, Amy felt as though she was about to put those lessons into play, especially if John needed her to watch after someone staying in the motel sharing the lot, and all of that depended on landing a job at the very diner she sat in.

Swallowing the need to back down beneath the glare the woman was now throwing her way, Amy returned the stare, wondering if the redhead was about to offer her a job based solely on the fact that she hadn't cowered. As the two met eyes for a long moment, Amy suddenly came to the realization of something. John wanted her to pick a different name, an alias, which was essentially a character. If Amy couldn't be Amy while she kept her eyes on a couple of armed-and-dangerous men, that meant she could be anyone she so desired—whoever that happened to be.

Wracking her brain for options, Amy looked away from the woman just as the redhead cracked a grin and sauntered away, her hips swishing in a motion that was sure to drive the men that came into the establishment mad with lust. A second later and she returned, a piece of paper and pen in her hand as she placed it in front of Amy. Tapping it with purpose, Amy looked up at the redhead as she kept her finger on the page, noticing that an application had been set in front of her.

"Look," the woman said, sighing heavily as though she didn't want to say the next few words, "we happen to be a couple people short. I know this place doesn't look busy, but you came in right in the eye of the storm. When supper time rolls around, this place will be a circus. You want to work here, you got it. I just need you to fill this out first to see if you actually know what you're doing before I hire you. I need to know if you've worked anything like this before. I'm hoping you have because I'll be damned if I have to train another dropout wannabe Liz Parker."

"I have experience," Amy answered, picking the pen up just as the woman pivoted to grab her plate of food and place it on the counter beside her. "Thank you."

Nodding appreciatively, either at the gratitude or the idea of someone applying with an actual background in waitressing, the redhead watched with narrowed eyes while Amy filled out the form. When she was done, she passed it aside before grabbing the cheeseburger off the plate, not realizing until now how hungry she had been. While she ate, the redhead reached for the completed resume, scanning it once over before nodding again.

"I have friends at the Microtel Diner. You know Irene?" the woman asked, crossing her arms as though doubtful of Amy's claim to have worked there. "We've been friends for a long time. I went to high school with her cousin."

"I know Irene. And Catherine. And Brenda," Amy replied after swallowing a hot bite and heading off the following questions about the diner in Minneapolis in case she doubted Amy enough to call and check on her claims.

Smirking, the redhead crossed over to the register to punch open the drawer, placing the paper in her hand under the till and reaching for something underneath. Grabbing a marker out of the cup of pens beside the machine, the woman scribbled something on a small, flat surface in her hand, blowing on it when she was done. Heading back over to Amy, she slid what appeared to be a name badge in front of her. Glancing down at it, Amy smiled to herself as she placed the burger back down on the plate to free her hands. Picking up the tiny square of plastic, Amy quickly pocketed it in the front of her shorts just as the redhead was about to exit into the kitchen.

"One more thing," the woman said, pausing in the half-opened threshold and peering back with a curious eye. "You start tomorrow at seven. See you later, Kelly Taylor."

A moment later, and with the swish of a door, the redhead was gone, leaving Amy alone with nothing more than a greasy burger and a slew of thoughts as to what she was getting herself into.


	6. Chapter 5

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

FIVE

Tony's Café at Daze Inn  
>Louisville, Kentucky<br>Tuesday, June 20, 2006  
>8:20 AM<p>

It had been a little over an hour into her first shift before the men John had asked Amy to watch came strolling into the diner, setting up shop in a booth near the back and immediately looking around for a waitress to take their order. At the moment they walked in, Amy could tell that almost five years had passed between when the picture she had been given had been taken and now. The taller one, the one with darker hair and deep-set eyes, had aged a good deal, appearing more like a man than the teenager in the photograph. The shorter of the two—though both were tall, even by Amy's five-foot-ten standards—appeared almost the same, though the boyish looks of the early twenties were becoming shaved off of his facial features.

As both of them took up residence, speaking to the blonde waitress whose name she had yet to learn, Amy kept her eyes on them from behind the counter. The younger one appeared irritated with something on the computer screen propped open in front of him, shooting the older one an annoyed glance as soon as the blonde turned away. Speaking quietly between them, the two bantered for awhile before the pair fell quiet, seeming to go separate ways mentally.

While they waited for their food, Amy glanced at them periodically, making sure not to fall behind on her job in the meantime. Judging by the redhead she had met the night before, who had identified herself as Claire as soon as Amy had reported for duty, it seemed as though any slip-ups could cause her to lose her position on the wait staff. According to Claire, the reason Amy had the job in the first place was because someone had screwed up, and that that should be a warning to her if she were to value her trade. Knowing that John had asked her to insert herself into the café in the first place, Amy felt it important to stay employed and under the radar, almost becoming someone else in the process.

The day before, while she had been walking back to the motel to find John gone once again, Amy had decided that this would be nothing more than a role she would play. Though she understood that what she was doing was something anyone in their right mind could do, watching someone without tipping off the targets under radar, she found it good practice for the classes she was hoping to land when she returned to Yale. In the past three years she had been at the university, she had heard nothing but teachers drilling into her head that she was playing a character and not herself, and because of that, she should be able to open up more due to the fact that the person on stage wasn't actually her. If she wanted to get into Professor Emerson's Acting for Screen class, she was going to have to work at it enough to nail the audition that it took to secure a spot. This, it appeared, was giving her the opportunity to try to become a different person, someone who only shared the same face.

As she had been filling out the application the afternoon before, John's warning of picking a pseudonym had echoed throughout her head, giving her pause as she was about to scribble down her own name. For a moment, she considered a list of options, wondering if she should make up her own alias or go with one more familiar. Choosing the latter, and figuring it would be easier to remember should she find herself in a tough situation, she had picked an innocuous name, a character from a television show she had grown up watching. Scribbling down "Kelly Taylor", and hoping that the owners of the rights to _Beverly Hills, 90210 _weren't going to go after her, Amy had begun to assume the role.

However, how she was going to portray the person, either as an extension of herself or otherwise, had been a mystery until her long walk back to the motel. As she trampled through gravel and flourishing flowers whose petals had drifted away, she had decided on a course of action: simply become a more confident Amy, one more daring than normal. Nodding on the idea, as though a handshake with a business partner, she had committed to the plan, putting it into play as soon as she walked through the door of Tony's Café that morning, not backing down beneath Claire's dubious gaze like she normally would.

Unfortunately, the ruse wasn't as easy to maintain as she initially thought. After floating from table to table, making small conversation with customers and locking into the routine she had learned at the Microtel Diner, Amy could feel herself slip away from Kelly and back into Amy as she did nothing but smile kindly at comments and thank people as she rang them up. While she was certain nothing was wrong with that, especially when she had a job to do rather than chat with people, she could tell that she was the only one not vying for tips by doing so. Thankfully, as soon as the two men she had been asked to watch came in, after a small heart-stopping pause of surprise, Amy quickly reminded herself that she was there to play a role of another person and to keep her eyes on the suspects John appeared to be following from state to state. Rolling her shoulders back, she promised to respect her previous acting teacher's lesson of becoming a different person other than herself before resuming business as usual.

Heading for the table she had just abandoned with the blue bucket usually reserved for busboys cleaning up after a preceding customer, Amy dumped the dishes inside the tub, pocketing the tips left behind and glancing at the men. They were speaking again, this time with the older one holding open an aged brown journal as he muttered to the other. Figuring that was all she needed to see, she continued with the work, making sure to set the used plates carefully inside the pail so that food remnants didn't touch the bottom. When she was done, she turned on heel and headed behind the counter, pushing the swinging door to the kitchen open with her hip.

Inside, the sizzle of burgers on the grill met her ears, as well as the heat from the surfaces causing her skin to perspire. Rounding the butcher's block in the middle of the room, Amy beelined for Willy, the guy who Claire described as nothing but a glorified maid. By the time she reached him, his arms were elbow-deep in soapy water, only emerging every few seconds to drop a clean dish into the clear water in the nearby sink. Sighing, Amy placed the bucket on the draining board beside him, scraping off the excess breakfast into the garbage can for him and placing the dishes in the pile with the others.

"If I didn't know any better," Willy said just as Amy was about to leave, wiping his brow with the back of his wet hand and dampening his blonde hair, "I would think you're not from around here."

"That's because I'm not," Amy replied, balancing the tub in front of her with both hands and pressing it against her stomach in an attempt to calm the nerves rising up. She had never been particularly good at keeping conversation, especially since she wasn't talkative to begin with. However, she reminded herself, in this diner, she wasn't _Amy_, she was _Kelly_. Taking that to heart, she continued, "Just moved here, actually."

"Oh, yeah?" Willy asked, drying his hands absently. "Where you from?"

Frowning, Amy tried to think of an answer. Telling him Beverly Hills would be too obvious, especially since the name could be tracked back to the television show and the notoriety of the city, and giving her real hometown was out of the question. Swallowing hard, she thought back on something that would give her a location, any location. Landing on John's license plate, Amy recalled the state listed above the combination of numbers and digits in black text against a blue background. "Kansas."

"Like Dorothy, huh?" Willy grinned, throwing the towel he had been using over his shoulder as he glanced Amy up and down, visually appraising her. Landing on the black-and-neon green t-shirt Claire had given her to wear less than an hour ago, Willy smiled wider, his eyes focusing on Amy's chest as he began to lick his lips. "I'd say you definitely aren't in Kansas anymore, little girl." Reaching out his water-wrinkled hand, he grinned wider. "What do you say we celebrate that fact, missy?"

Narrowing her eyes, Amy turned and headed out of the kitchen, almost ramming into Gary the Cook on her way out. As soon as she was back behind the counter, the cool breeze from the air conditioner in the corner hitting her dewy skin, she tried to wipe the irritation off of her face, though becoming unsuccessful. In the pause between customers, both Claire and the blonde headed for her, using the guise of needing to refill the coffee machines and grab more silverware as cover. Standing in front of the door, the three of them surveyed the room before both women turned to Amy, a knowing look in their expressions.

"He got to you, huh?" Claire said with the curious raise of an eyebrow.

Nodding absently, Amy glanced at the two men she had been asked to watch, noticing that both of them now had their eyes on the cluster of waitresses. Frowning deeper, Amy let out a breath through her nose before noticing that her co-workers had taken off—one heading for a booth on the other side of the restaurant while Claire went into the kitchen. Realizing that she still had the blue bucket in her hand, Amy bunched her jaw and rounded the counter, heading straight for the pair of men and attempting to put on a smile. As soon as she approached them, Amy could tell that the older one of the two had been doing the same as Willy, eyeing her body as though she was nothing more than an accessory inside the diner. Swallowing the irritation that built with the idea, Amy faked a smile, letting Kelly come through, and lowered her voice.

"I can take your plates if you're done."

Peering up at her in a surprised way, as though he hadn't expected her to say anything, the one with the shorter hair grinned. As she looked at him, Amy could see something in his expression. It wasn't a leer like Willy had given her in the kitchen, it was as if he noticed her hidden agitation, appearing slightly upset by it.

"Seems like you're having a bad day," he frowned.

Sighing, Amy nodded as she reached forward to pick up their plates from where they had fallen littered across the table, not bothering to leave behind anything aside from the empty cup of coffee sitting on the taller boy's side of the table. Glancing back at the older one, he was still holding an expression of interest, prompting Amy to assume another lie to go with the cover she was creating. Though she hated having to summon ideas at the spur of the moment, she realized that ad-libbing _was _part of acting, no matter how stuttered her imagination seemed under pressure. Having to create a fib right in front of the people she had been asked to watch was stressful, especially when she wasn't sure how dangerous they were or why the FBI were trailing behind them in the first place. They could be murderers or snipers or anything that involved homicide, and standing a few inches in front of them wasn't much protection in the off chance that they discovered what she was doing there.

"Second day on the job and they're already thinking of firing me," Amy lied, plastering on a grim smile as she finished clearing the table. "I guess I was never really cut out to be a waitress."

Smirking, the older one nodded. "Well, most people aren't."

"Yeah, probably," Amy grinned, hefting the tub onto her hip and looking for an exit. It hadn't been a good idea to approach them, no matter how normal they seemed and Amy was trying to appear. Turning toward the kitchens, Amy figured chancing another encounter with Willy was better than sticking around with two men who had been deemed armed-and-dangerous. Nodding toward them finally and deciding to do as she did for the other tables she had bussed earlier, Amy added. "Anyway, if you need anything, my name is Kelly."

Disappearing behind the door, Amy let out a deep breath of relief as she headed for the sink, only to find that Willy was gone. Not bothering to scrape off the dishes before setting them with the rest, Amy clutched the tub to her chest and tried to slow her heart rate. She didn't know why she was so nervous. It wasn't like the pair were likely to open fire or whatever in a crowded diner, especially if they were being watched by the government. Plus, the two had been dressed in suits rather than street clothes, causing Amy to wonder whether or not their crime had been of the white-collar variety rather than shoot-em-up. If that were true, the only danger they posed was to Amy's bank account, if at all.

Exiting the kitchen for the second time, Amy placed the tub beneath the counter and headed for the register, hoping that the digital clock built into the machine would tell her that it was almost time for her break. As she neared it, she noticed that the older of the pair was now on his feet and nearing her, pulling something out of his inner coat pocket as he walked. Heart stopping for a moment at the thought of a weapon, Amy gasped, only to see that he was retrieving his wallet. Coming to a halt in front of her, the man leaned against the tabletop, smiling almost suggestively in her direction.

"So, you from around here?" he asked, pulling out a credit card and tapping it against the Formica underneath his arm.

"Originally, no," Amy lied, finding it easier to come up with a story now that she was calming down to the idea of her targets sharing the same space as her. "I just transferred to the University of Louisville. I'm working on my summer classes to get my senior year done faster. It's like you're still a junior until the official fall semester starts up. Which sucks because I want the credentials of saying I'm in my last go-around."

Grinning, the man nodded slowly, handing his credit card over as Amy began to ring up the total for their meal, eyeing the name on the plastic before sliding it through the machine. Hector Aframian. That sounded familiar, but Amy couldn't place her finger on why. Gazing up at him, she tried to decide whether or not that was his real name. Though he didn't look particularly Armenian, since that's usually where the name would originate from, it didn't mean that he wasn't. Making a mental note to Google it—hoping it would turn out to be real and lead to an idea as to what these two had been doing to get government attention and ease her nerves about being around them should they show up again—Amy went through the practiced motions of using the register while the man continued to watch her.

After a long moment, he finally cleared his throat while the receipt printed. "So, uh, you live around here or something? This place is kind of far from the school, isn't it?"

Smiling in order to buy herself time to think, Amy attempted to come up with a tale that sounded believable, not wanting to say that she lived in the dorms in case University of Louisville didn't truly offer summer housing. Deciding to use a borrowed story, one that Joel had told her about living off-campus with a friend before Yale had instituted the rule that anyone under twenty-one _has _to say in the dorms, Amy pursed her lips.

"I live with my friend, Delia, in this apartment not far from the school. She drops me off for work in the morning before she goes in for her internship. Unfortunately, I have to walk home tonight because her non-job is having this conference in Houston that she has to go to. Apparently the company has headquarters there or something."

"I could give you a ride home," the man offered suddenly, causing Amy to raise her eyebrows in surprise at how forward he was. Glancing back at the table containing the younger one, Hector Aframian shook his head as he turned back to her. "My partner and I just have a few loose ends to tie up, but if you don't want to walk…"

Biting her lip and staring into the man's eyes, Amy tried to determine whether or not he was trying to be nice or picking up on her. Deciding on the latter, she peered down at the printer beside the register, noticing that she had yet to give him his receipt. Reaching for it, she slowly tore off the slip of paper, thinking as the sharp metal teeth ripped the glossy sheet. While this guy had been the second one to appraise her body as nothing more than appealing, something she was sure she should be flattered about but wasn't, he didn't seem as one-track minded as Willy had been. However, there was still the fact that John had asked her to _watch_ the man in front of her, not date him, meaning that giving him any real information about what time she was off or the like was out of the question.

Grabbing the silver marker out from behind her ear, Amy did what she had for almost every other boy who had asked her out in the past, and began to scribble down a fake phone number. Pushing the receipt toward him, the man grinned and placed it in his wallet before leaning more forward on the counter.

"One more question," he said, lowering his voice and prompting Amy to bend closer in order to hear him speak. "My partner and I, we're working on something down at the Waverly Hills Sanitarium. You know it?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it."

"You know anything about it, or anyone who might know? We're really tapped in terms of information and don't really know where to look."

Nodding slowly, Amy stared off behind him as she tried to think of anything that might be related to the sanitarium. She had only read about it in books listing haunted places or landmarks with odd pasts, but hadn't really looked into it. While she knew the history of the building had quite a bit to do with death, she didn't know if any of that would be helpful. Taking a different tack, she tried to think of anyone local who might know, only coming up short again. She didn't know much about the area aside from what it was famous for, and maybe a few college professors Jennifer had met while going to conventions. Racking her brain, she tried to remember what some of them taught, finally landing on one.

"There's a woman, a professor at the university, who lectures about paranormal phenomenon," Amy said, the only truthful thing to exit her lips since entering the diner. "I think she only teaches during the summer, but I wouldn't bet on her class ending before eleven or noon. I can give her a call if you'd like, maybe set up an appointment."

"That'd be great," the man smiled, checking his watch before looking back up at her. "Anything we can do until then?"

"The Third Street historical society might help," Amy shrugged, remembering an excerpt from _Concentrated_ _Societies of the United States_. "They mainly focus on Civil War history, but most of it's local. It could be worth a shot."

Grinning in thanks, Hector Aframian pushed off the countertop just as his partner, though she could have sworn they were related, got to his feet. As they walked out the door, Amy sighed, hoping that she hadn't caused any harm by sending the pair further into Louisville. Checking the clock on the register again, Amy could see that it was ten minutes to nine, close enough to consider taking a break.

Rounding the counter and passing Claire as she nodded approvingly toward her, Amy headed for the parking lot, finding it almost deserted aside from a few semi and pickup trucks. Taking a seat on the ground, Amy pulled her phone out of her pocket. She had two people to dial: first John to fill him in on what had happened, then Jennifer to see if she could get Amy in contact with her professor friend.


	7. Chapter 6

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SIX

Fenton's Pool & Bar  
>Green River, Arkansas<br>Wednesday, June 21, 2006  
>9:18 PM<p>

**I**t was all a blur the night Amy returned to the Louisville Lodge to find her bags packed and loaded into John's truck. The evening had barely begun, with the sun still going down, and Amy's feet had been hurting from the ten-hour shift she had been asked to work due to someone calling in sick at the last minute. Though she figured it might be good to pick up extra hours, especially if those men were coming back, she hadn't thought staying inside the nearly-empty diner long after she was due to clock out would be as boring as it had been.

From the time the lunch rush passed at a little after noon, the small restaurant had been completely empty, leaving Claire, Amy, and the blonde—who turned out to be named Eleanor—with nothing to do except wipe down the tables as they waited. When no one came in, and when the booths were completely spotless, Claire and Eleanor had stood idly, discussing something they had seen on TV the night before. Meanwhile, Amy had tried contacting John again, having gotten his voicemail during her other three attempts. As the call went disconnected, she had hung up, joining in on the heated argument over whether Rory Gilmore was better with Dean, Jess, or Logan by adding her own uninformed two cents.

However, after returning back to the motel while a new shift of waitresses took over the trickling dinner crowd, Amy had been set on getting a good night's sleep and staying off her feet. Unfortunately, it seemed as though John had other plans, having already hindered to her idea and derailing it. As soon as she walked into her room to find John destroying the lines of white he had created the minute they had checked in, she knew that her dream of sleeping in a bed after working a long while wasn't about to happen. Instead, she had gotten into the cab of the truck, attempting to recline the seat as far back as it could go, and watched the fading sky though the top part of the window that wasn't blocked by the roof of the car. In less than an hour of heading southwest, she had fallen asleep, becoming absent as she listened to the music making tinny sounds over the humming engine.

When she awoke, it was still dark, though the early morning light was threatening to rise on the horizon as John directed them through rural roads with hardly any stop signs. Glancing at the hands of his watch as the face glittered off the overhead streetlights, she could see that it was a little past two in the morning. Sitting up straight, she cleared her throat and glanced at the man beside her, noticing that a cup of coffee and a newspaper had appeared in the time that she had been asleep. Propping her chair back into the right position, she peered out the window and tried to figure out where they were, only to come up short. In the darkness, she could barely make out the shapes of distantly-spaced buildings, seeing nothing but grass and empty plains stretching out around them.

"Arkansas," John had answered for her, seeming to notice her confusion.

Nodding, Amy had eyed him for a moment before muttering a shy. "Thanks."

The conversation had ended there, the music taking over and swelling as the truck rolled to a stop in the gravel lot of a deserted motel. Knowing the routine by now, Amy hadn't waited for John to retrieve the keys before hopping out to gather her things, rubbing sleep from her eyes as he went inside to obtain them a pair of rooms. Though she was sure she had been out for a full eight hours, having not fallen asleep any time after seven o'clock, Amy could still feel tiredness blurring her senses as she watched the dimly-lit people inside the office communicate before John walked out. Making an attempt not to fall asleep as she followed him down the short stretch of four doorways, Amy kept her eyes wide as he unlocked the room for her, standing aside as she entered. Immediately dropping her bags on the ground and rolling onto the bed, exhaustion keeping her from caring about anything else, Amy curled up on top of the covers while John secured the entrance and windows in his odd way. When he was done, he exited through the adjoining door, shutting it this time as opposed to all of their other motel stays.

Not bothering to think about it, Amy stayed balled like a cat on top of the sheets before finally dozing off, waking only a handful of hours later to catch the sunrise. Getting up from her coiled position, she had headed straight for the coffee machine, turning on the pot and listening to it bubble and simmer. While it worked, Amy headed into the bathroom, taking a shower and getting ready for whatever John would ask her to do today—which was, hopefully, more of the same as before. By noon, he had finally made noise next door, alerting Amy of his presence when she had been sure that he had left again. Instead, the thunk of heavy shoes hitting the carpet told her that he was still in the room beside hers, probably getting dressed as she waited patiently, barely listening to _The Hours _as it played on HBO for the hundredth time.

It hadn't been long before John had appeared through the adjoining door, knocking first before he entered. Sitting up attentively, Amy pressed the "off" button on the remote as she waited for him to speak, wondering whether or not he was going to give her more details about the men they were trailing. While she had planned to look up "Hector Aframian" on the web when she had returned to the Louisville Lodge, even making a note of it on her cell, she hadn't been able to do so with the hustle and bustle of leaving. Still in the daylight, she had seen the two return while she remained at Tony's Café, catching a glimpse of them as they dropped a woman off in the parking lot and headed inside one of the rooms, speeding onto the road again only a minute later. While she had tried to make conversation with the woman, who turned out to be the professor Amy had sent the men to earlier, Mrs. Dyer hadn't budged with the subject of their meeting, instead turning to the discussion to what she taught at the college and her husband, the sheriff.

However, while the two had been talking, with Mrs. Dyer sitting at the counter while Amy tended to her constantly-emptying coffee cup, she had accidentally let it slip that the men had been headed to the old sanitarium they had been asking about earlier. Caught up in the idea of something happening there, since the place was remote and hidden from the street, Amy had unintentionally sputtered out her real name when the woman asked for it out of curiosity. Connecting the dots between the phone call earlier, Mrs. Dyer had asked about Amy's mother, only getting a distant response in return. Kicking herself, Amy hoped the woman wouldn't repeat their conversation to the pair Amy was supposed to be watching.

Thankfully, she had been both off the clock and our of town before Mrs. Dyer had left the diner—if she had at all. Unfortunately, if John and Amy were moving on, that meant the pair they were following had as well, meaning that there was a possibility of them catching up to her should the professor have mentioned the name change. As John slowly walked into her room, a heaviness came with his gait, as though something was on his mind that was weighing on him. Leaning against the dresser holding up the TV set, he sighed deeply before meeting eyes with her. It had been the first time since they had encountered one another that it had happened, causing Amy to wonder whether or not she was in trouble or if the man was becoming more comfortable with her presence.

"We're going to have to do something different this time," John had said finally, looking away to examine the pinstriped curtains blocking out the window. "If you go in as you are, they'll recognize you."

"You want me to go undercover?" Amy had asked uncertainly, glancing up.

Nodding, John reached inside his coat pocket to retrieve a card, holding it out for her to grab from across the room. Getting to her feet, she reached for it, scanning the name that stared up at her from the bent rectangle. It was the contact number for a place called City Costuming in a town known as Grover Ridge. Accepting the information, Amy shoved it into her own pocket, wondering if John was going to give her a ride or if she was going to have to walk. Gazing up curiously, the man met her eyes again before nodding. Reciprocating the gesture, Amy couldn't help but venture a guess that John hadn't summoned the idea of costumes and disguises from inside himself. The guy, who didn't seem to change clothes all that often, didn't appear to be the type that would be able to blend in with the crowd by donning a workman's uniform or an electrician's jumpsuit.

Not discussing it, John had simply grabbed his keys and begun to head out, glancing back at Amy as though to make sure she was coming. Once inside the car, John had taken her to the store before leaving, filling her in on what he wanted her to do as he drove.

"I got a hit on something happening in a town called Green River. I just need you to keep an eye on them for me until they move on, maybe find out what they're up to," John had said, pulling into City Costuming's small lot and hardening his words. "Whatever you do, don't be sloppy. If they recognize you, we're screwed. Got it?"

Realizing that it was possible John _had _found out about Amy's slip-up at Tony's Café, Amy had slid out of the passenger's side of the truck, waiting for John to pull out of the lot and head back down the road before going inside. Whether he would be back or not, she didn't know. Instead, she took a deep breath and heading inside, unsure as to what she would need or who she should trust to help her once browsing the aisles.

Thankfully, a Brazilian woman who seemed to have been tipped off about Amy's appearance had flocked her as soon as she had entered. Letting Lena, or that's what Amy thought the woman's name was, pick out outfits and wigs and pairs of glasses that even the Yale drama department would be jealous of, she had let Amy leave without charging her, even calling a taxi in the meantime. As soon as she was back at the motel, which hadn't been as far from City Costuming as she had initially thought, Amy had waited for John to return for more instructions, only being told to disguise herself and catch a ride to a place called Fenton's Pool and Bar in Green River. According to him, it was likely at least one of the men under surveillance would be there, probably drinking enough to become loose-lipped.

However, it had been an hour since Amy had paid the cab driver that had let her off in front of the small, brick-front establishment, giving Amy enough time to come up with an idea for a character and a way to disguise her voice. Unfortunately, it also gave her time to down about fifteen glasses of Coke in anticipation for having to try to fool one or both of the pair Amy had been asked to watch—and this time, talk to. As the bartender, and possibly owner, rounded to her side of the bar for the two dozenth time, Amy realized that she was going to have to put her plan into action even before the men showed up.

"You've been here quite some time, young lady. Anything you're avoiding at home?"

Grinning up at the sandy-haired bartender, Amy pondered her options for a reply, and coming to the comprehension that it was possibly better to simply act rather than think about it. Figuring that it was probable that a thick accent would be the best course of action when it came to disguising her voice, Amy cleared her throat, hoping that she wouldn't have to stop and think about anything else before answering.

"Nothin' I can think of, yeah?" Amy responded, putting on as much of a believable Australian accent as she could. She knew from watching movies and taking lessons that Aussies had a tendency to make their statements sound more like questions, causing her to add an inflection to the end of her sentences. Ultimately, though, she hoped her lilt was believable enough that he didn't question her authenticity. "Jus' on the road."

Becoming interested, the bartender leaned forward, grabbing at a white towel that seemed permanently attached to his shoulder. "Road trip? Where from? And what for?"

Grinning again, Amy nodded at his questions, trying not to over-think the answer and coming up with a semi-truthful response. "Jus' with my dad. I got off school from Yale during the summer and we're stayin' on the road until I 'ave to go back again."

Suddenly, the door to the bar swung open to reveal the shorter of the two men Amy had been asked to watch. As he eyed the establishment, his gaze passing over the clatter of billiards and the full booths before finally landing on the gaggle of women punctuating the countertop in front of her, Amy felt her heart begin to race. Reaching up to push the black wire-rimmed, non-perscription glasses further up the bridge of her nose, Amy hoped the blonde wig and gaudy makeup she had donned prior to leaving the motel would be enough to keep the man off of her scent.

"Yale? That's a pretty impressive school," the bartender continued, not seeming to notice Amy's pause in conversation and absent stare. "What brings you to Green River? Where are you two headed?"

Smiling up at the man in front of her while the one beside her sat down, Amy tried to remain casual. "Dunno ye'. Thinkin' California if we get the chance. Migh' even stop into Los'ngeles and 'ave a looksee around."

"Los Angeles? Big place," the man beside her said finally, ordering a drink and shooing away the bartender as he went to retrieve it. Smirking toward her, the light-brown haired man leaned against the bar, narrowing his sage green eyes as though trying to recognize her from somewhere.

Looking away, Amy kept her stare locked on the glass in front of her, sipping the sugary soda before muttering a quiet, "G'day, mate."

"So, where are you from? No, wait… let me guess: Sydney."

Smirking despite her unease, Amy wanted to roll her eyes, but instead took another long drink before tucking a lock of the fake blonde hair behind her ear and turning toward him. "Is tha' the only Australian city y'know?"

Pausing, the man let his eyes wonder over her body just like he had at the diner the day before. As his stare scanned every inch of her arms, legs, and chest, Amy couldn't help but feel as though he was still trying to place where he had seen her before. Landing on a piece of jewelry hanging from around her neck, Amy swallowed hard, remembering that she had forgotten to take off the crucifix she had been given for her thirteenth birthday. The small cross hadn't been removed since the day it had been bequeathed to her, apparently a relic belonging to her real mother that had been part of the adoption deal, and almost seemed to belong where it fell against her chest. Most of the time, she forgot it was there, even when she had been trying to be self-aware.

Wrapping her arms around her torso to block any view of the necklace, the man cleared his throat and appeared slightly embarrassed at being caught looking. Seemingly attempting to ease the awkward silence, he nodded. "Yeah, I don't know many cities in Australia. By the way, I'm Dean."

Furrowing her brow, Amy cocked her head a little and stared at him, curious as to whether or not this was a pseudonym like "Hector Aframian" seemed to be or something else. For some reason, the idea of a real name made her constant watch of him feel personal, rather than just referring to him and his partner as "the pair" or "the men". However, now that she could see him better in the dim light, Amy could tell that he looked like a Dean, knowing most of the guys she had met with the name to be the alpha-male, lady-chasing types. Changing her expression at Dean's curious gaze, Amy swallowed hard and offered a reassuring smile, trying to think up an alias of her own.

"Brenda," Amy said simply, thinking back on one of the girls from the Microtel Diner. The woman had been blonde with a similar cut as the wig, though had been much older and more harsh-looking. Despite that, the name had been befitting of her as well. Glancing over at Dean during the pause in conversation, Amy saw that the curious gaze was still on his face, as though looking to learn more about her. Nodding and conceding, Amy added, "And I'm from Melbourne."

"Melbourne? I've… never heard of it," Dean admitted with a grimace. "And you're on a road trip with your dad? You sure picked a weird day to roll into town."

Frowning, Amy waited for Dean to sip his beer before he continued speaking. Eyeing him for a moment, she could tell that Dean had said the sentence nonchalantly, almost not noticing that the words had escaped his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, Amy cleared her throat. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Nearly choking on his drink, Dean swallowed hard. "Nothing. Never mind."

Smiling despite the surge of panic that had risen with what he had said, Amy glanced toward the back of the room, hoping to find a dark corner to slip into to get away and call John. It was possible that this guy, Dean, and his unnamed partner were planning something while they were in town, possibly something that involved other people. Judging by the cities that John had followed them to so far, it seemed as though their locations were getting less and less populated, as though they had been tipped off that someone was on their trail. If what they were doing involved people being hurt or something just as severe, it was better the FBI knew about it beforehand rather than finding out while it was in progress.

Flashing a grin, Amy slipped off her chair and pointed to a dark corner, pretending to spot someone in the distance. "Oll-righ', Anyway, tha's 'im over there. See ya, mate."

Crossing over to the dark side of the room, Amy pulled out her cell phone, shielding the screen from being seen or illuminating the shadows. Finding John's number in her recent calls section, she waited for it to ring, only hearing it roll to voicemail. Hanging up, she waited for the call to end before opening the text message application, jotting down a few notes before sending the written-down information John's way. Though she wasn't sure whether or not the man knew how to read or receive texts, it was worth a shot. If he didn't, she could always refer to the message when it came to filling him in later.

Glancing up from the bright screen before shoving the phone into her pocket, Amy watched as Dean sauntered over to the other side of the bar, nearing the bartender and speaking quietly. Biting her lip, she quickly wondered whether or not they were discussing her before pushing the thought away and marking it as conceited. Instead, she wished she hadn't slipped into hiding so soon, curious as to if they were saying anything interesting. However, the moment Dean pulled out his own cell phone, Amy knew she had left too quickly, missing the opportunity to pick up on whatever Dean was now surely talking over with his partner.

Irritated with herself, and knowing the window to strike up another conversation had closed, Amy headed for the back door, attempting to slip out unnoticed and into the night.


	8. Chapter 7

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

SEVEN

Green River Police Station  
>Green River, Arkansas<br>Thursday, June 22, 2006  
>9:08 AM<p>

**S**itting in the darkened Green River police station gave Amy time to think and wonder whether or not she was missing out on an obvious opportunity while she traveled with John. There were questions that Amy had had her whole life, wonderments about both of her parents—where they came from, what had happened to them, and so on—that had never been answered in the time she had spent with Joel and Jennifer Forester. She had wanted to know what they were like, why they had given her up, and how they had met since the time she had become engulfed in stories like _Her Own Song _and _Family Secrets_ after she entered elementary school, able to relate to feeling isolated from the Foresters under the knowledge that the man and woman she sometimes referred to as "Mom and Dad" weren't truly her biological parents.

However, it had been a long time since she had last thought about any of that, burying it under a pile of other feelings as she worked to graduate high school and get into college. Unfortunately, with Dean staring at her necklace the night before, reminding her of its presence, she couldn't help but become curious as to the piece of jewelry's origins. As soon as she had returned to the motel, finding it empty once more, she had removed the delicate thing from around her neck for the first time in a long while, staring at it for hours until John had interrupted the thoughtful silence. The intricate silver and stones, which were either diamonds or cubic-zirconium, hadn't become stained or corroded with dirt, or even rusted, in the time that Amy had donned the small crucifix, seeming as though brand new even though she knew it had to be at least twenty years old. On the back, right where the arms of the cross met with the body, was a small, barely-legible M, though Amy had no idea what the initial meant.

The longer she stared at it, the more clear the memory of receiving it became. Joel and Jennifer had wrapped it up in a red box, placing it inside larger ones like a nesting doll until she reached the inferior package at the end. Slightly disappointed with the size of the gift, especially since it _was _her thirteenth birthday and she _was_ now a teenager, she had greedily looked around for more, wondering if maybe a beanie baby had been stuffed into the parcel. Giving up, she had unwrapped the box to find a sparkling pendant inside, surprised at how enticed she had become in the piece of jewelry after Joel had explained to her that this was the one thing, other than her, that they had received at the adoption agency the day they had gone to retrieve their new baby girl. Thinking she was now old enough to appreciate the sentiment the necklace held, and figuring it would be something her real mother would give her on that day, the Foresters had handed it over from wherever it had been hiding for the past decade-plus. Making a promise to herself never to take it off, Amy had kept the crucifix close to her heart to the point that it had become part of her.

Ultimately, though, Amy's trip down recollection lane had been hindered the moment John had returned and interrupted the thoughtful silence that swelled over the room. Not seeming to care about what he had disturbed, he had headed into her side of the motel and asked for a report, biting back the obvious bubbling fury that came when Amy told him she had bailed too quickly to find out what Dean and his partner were up to. Picking up on his irritation, Amy had quietly vowed to right the wrong by trying harder, asking what she could do that would be of any more help.

However, she hadn't thought heading to a police station to impersonate an officer was going to be his answer. Though Amy was fine watching the men from afar, doing honest work while she assisted John in his cause, she was indefinitely more hesitant when it came to doing things that were likely to get her arrested, and pretending to be a cop _inside _of a precinct where she didn't have to go far to get thrown behind bars wasn't exactly something she was jumping to do. Unfortunately, based on the way John had reacted to her stifling his case, Amy owed it to him to find out what the two were planning on doing, especially since it sounded as though the pair were up to no good.

"_You sure picked a weird day to roll into town_," Dean had said at Fenton's Bar.

Keeping that thought in mind, Amy had adorned the blonde wig along with the tan uniform the woman at City Costuming had given her—who seemed to have apprehended this part of the job—and brown-colored contacts the place had provided. Her eyes, which she knew were the focal point of her face and seemed to draw a lot of attention, had probably been the giveaway with Dean the night before, and the reason why he had kept his gaze so focused on her until she had disappeared. Not wanting to make that mistake again, she had decided to cover up the sage green that appeared washed out compared to her chestnut hair, and had picked a color that matched the tousled locks hidden beneath the straw-blonde.

As she headed to the station, earning her an odd glare from the cab driver who had taken her, Amy had wondered how she was going to get inside to do so. According to John, it was likely that the pair would walk in, impersonating government officials as well, and ask for a piece of information Amy would easily be able to give. Also according to John, the two had a pattern of doing this, which, she supposed, was why he suggested it in the first place—though there was no way to be sure considering John only spoke in broken sentences, saying only half the information she needed while the rest required her to make her own inferences.

Not entirely bothered by it, and more concerned with making up her mistake, Amy had waited a few minutes around the side of the building, hoping that some, if not all, of the officers would leave to follow a lead somewhere else. Ultimately, when she realized the lot outside the station was devoid of police cars, Amy had ventured inside, finding the place completely empty and dim. Wondering if something had happened in the time between leaving that morning and arriving at the precinct, she had spent a good chunk of time looking for a clue as to where the officers might be, finally discovering a note about finishing the write-up on someone named Michael Kissling. Frowning, Amy slipped behind the desk, taking up residence on a stool positioned there and trying not to glance at the glass entrance every few seconds in anticipation of the officers returning.

Thankfully, even after a long wait, the policemen still hadn't arrived back at the station, leaving Amy with not much else to do but discover whoever Michael Kissling was. According to a report that had been scattered across the tabletop in front of her, the aforementioned man had been written up in the newspaper about rescuing a bunny before being run over by his own car. Scanning the article copied inside, Amy frowned at its unreliability, finding the situation odd, though not odd enough to file any kind of report. Reading further, she discovered why the police were so interested in the incident. Apparently the bunny-saving samaritan had spent the night following his accident robbing a bank a few towns over, then heading to a strip club where a woman had been found dead in a closet. Not seeing the two as coincidence, and finding the case out of their hands, the policeman in charge had called the FBI in for help, citing it as a possible serial killing.

Sliding off of her stool, Amy glanced around for a local newspaper to read up on the incident, turning toward the offices behind her to look inside. As she headed through the threshold, the sound of the front doors being pulled open resonated, the roar of traffic outside becoming louder as someone entered the building. Swallowing hard, and hoping that it wasn't the returning cops, Amy froze for a moment, listening hard for signs of footfalls. There were two obvious pairs of shoes tapping against the linoleum floor, giving Amy the feeling that when she emerged from the room she was in, she was about to come face-to-face with the men she had been asked to watch. A moment later and her suspicions were confirmed when a deep voice echoed throughout the precinct.

"Well, this is never a good sign."

Breath catching in her chest, Amy recognized the sarcastic inflection of the speaker as that belonging to Dean. Heart hammering, Amy poked her head out of the office to make sure, locking eyes with the man's partner as she did so. Walking out the doorway and crossing her arms over her chest, Amy attempted to put on an attitude, hoping it would keep the men from staying long to avoid a mix-up should the real officers arrive. Not saying anything, she headed for the desk, keeping her gaze down as Dean stared at her, his eyes doing the same thing they had done during every other encounter and tracing her body. Becoming actually annoyed with the third once-over in the past few days, she shot him a glare and waited for him to speak.

"You work here?" he asked, glancing up.

"No. I'm getting ready for Halloween," Amy snapped, trying to hold back a grin at the irony. "Can I help you with something or are you just here to hang out?"

Staring at her again, in the same, familiar way as if he knew her from somewhere, Dean's green eyes narrowed before he shook his head, apparently coming to the conclusion that he was imagining things. Reaching into his coat pocket, Amy tried not to flinch as he retrieved something from inside, a black wallet that looked like the one she had found in John's room a handful of weeks before. Flashing the FBI credentials, Amy frowned, wondering if they were legitimate and if she was somehow caught in the middle of the government's version of spy-versus-spy.

Not giving her enough of a look before the badge was placed back inside the lining of his jacket, Dean cleared his throat. "Actually, we're here for some information."

Taking the pencil she had absently tucked behind her ear while reading Michael Kissling's police report, Amy pretended to write something down before answering, hoping it would make her appear busy rather than give away how nervous she felt. She didn't know why she had suddenly become overrun with anxiety, probably because it was likely that any moment that they stood there could be the one that lead to the true officers walking into the precinct and arresting them all, or because she was afraid of being caught by the men in front of her. Either way, she had a feeling it was only a matter of time before she was found out, and judging by the way Dean had been looking at her, that time wouldn't be long from now.

Clearing the thought from her mind, Amy focused back on the task at hand, putting on the tough-guy persona she was trying to handle and remembering that the police had called the FBI earlier that morning. Thinking it was possible they had been filled in before going out to investigate on their own, Amy bit her lip nervously. "I gave your buddies all the information they need. So unless you guys are all experiencing extreme memory loss, maybe you should ask one of them."

"We would, but they're from a separate office," the taller one piped up, arranging his face in a way that was obviously meant to appease Amy with the childishness of it. His green eyes softened as dimples formed in his smile, causing her to want to return the gesture in response. He was cute, she realized, for a fugitive. "See, our AD is having a bit of a bitchfit over the Little Rock office becoming sloppy, so he sent us out from Chicago to handle it. After asking around, it seems like the other team's preparing to close up shop while we're still working. So any and all information that you've given them is just going to go to waste."

Pausing a moment, Amy gazed up at him, thinking back on John's pit-stop in Chicago. If what the younger of the two was saying happened to be true, that explained why John had headed there first, though didn't explain why he had returned beaten and bloody, nor why he was trailing the pair in the first place. Tapping the eraser of the pencil against her lips in thought, Amy softened her stare as well, grinning slightly at the taller one's pitiful look. She couldn't see what the men could want with a file on a man who had reportedly stolen his wife's car and headed out of town to commit murder, unless they were hoping to team up with him, and handing it over wouldn't do much aside from allowing them time to read it while she jotted down a few notes in her phone to give to John later.

"Alright. Whatever. It's not like I have anything else to do. What do you need to know? And make it quick before everyone else comes back. We're not a big precinct, but the other guys that work here are pretty much the biggest assholes on this side of the equator and try to make up in size by kicking other people around," Amy said, trying to rush them and ad-libbing the rest. The longer they stood there, the closer she could feel the cops approaching, even if that fact was entirely imagined.

Not seeming to pick up on the hint that they actually needed to hurry, Dean stepped forward to lean against the desk Amy was standing on the other side of, eyeing her chest to read the nametag that had been built into the outfit she wore. "We'll be quick," he muttered, biting his lip and grinning. "So, Cooper, huh? Any relation to Alice?"

Wanting to groan and feeling the pressure of time ticking by, Amy tapped her feet against the linoleum and shot Dean a glare, hoping he would back up and get down to business so she could get out of there and return to her motel. She didn't feel comfortable, both with them or with the idea of being on a time limit, and the fact that she was unsure of how stable both of these things were was causing her to squirm.

Finally appearing to understand her impatience, Dean stood up. "Alright, alright. What can you tell me about the body of the dead girl found at the strip club?"

Thankful for his return to the topic, Amy let out a quiet breath before reaching down to find the pair of files that had been placed on top of a pile of papers. Though she hadn't read the one containing anything about the deceased stripper, nor really cared to considering she knew it was going to be full of bloody and graphic pictures, she flipped it open and shifted her weight, reading what had been typed up in the report on the right side and ignoring the photograph tacked to the left.

"Died of blunt trauma to the face. Witnesses claim she went into a room with Michael Kissling and they heard sounds of struggling. Of course, it was inside of a strip club, so the moans could have been anything." Stopping a moment to find more information, Amy stumbled upon a handwritten scribble near the back of the folder, scanning it before reading it aloud. "Other reports say she was seen leaving the club in a black Honda CRV. Surveillance shots and a registry run point out that the vehicle belongs to Susan Kissling, though she has no memory of loaning the car to the woman. A cell phone check shows that the two never had contact before, so I'm inclined to believe her."

Glancing up, Amy could see the taller one was frowning, obviously catching some sort of snag in what had been transcribed. Glancing down at it, Amy tried to pick it out, only coming up short. Looking back up at him, Amy raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he spoke.

"There's no video of the girl getting into the car?"

Furrowing her brow in surprise of him noticing that, Amy peered down at the report, searching for the answer. Though it was possible that towns in Arkansas were so small that they didn't contain traffic cameras or surveillance videos due to low crime rates or no need for them in general, she was certain there had to be more evidence than just a witness. She had seen enough _Dateline _to know that cops weren't inclined to believe intoxicated men who had spent the last few hours inside a strip club as reliable onlookers, especially when the alcohol was priced low enough to keep the guys drinking and paying for girls.

Finding her solution at the bottom of the first page, Amy read aloud what had been typed, glancing up before doing so. "The cameras there only take a series of pictures once every minute. We have the car heading into the lot, parking, Michael Kissling heading in, then the car leaving. No driver is indicated."

"What about traffic cameras?" Dean asked, biting his lip in thought.

Taking a moment, Amy looked for a response, finding nothing but the thought that had previously crossed her mind. Deciding that she had no choice but to ad-lib once more, as well as make up a few things, Amy cleared her throat and put on the tough act again. "Towns as small as Jacksonville or Green River don't have those things, boys. In fact, the Internet here still runs on dial-up in most places. Only the motel and the bar have high-speed, and that's only because both owners have the money to pay for satellite service. We don't have much homicide, either. I'm pretty sure the last death this precinct ever investigated was a self-inflicted gunshot wound that happened while Calvin Williams was cleaning his rifle." Pausing to crack a grin, feeling guilty about lying and leading them on with borrowed facts from crime novels, Amy placed the file folder she had been reading down in front of Dean. "Take this, read it, and if you find anything helpful, there's a copy machine in the corner. If you don't find what you're looking for, just give it back."

Nodding in thanks, the men in front of her eyed her for a second before heading for a pair of chairs beside the Xerox settled against a nearby wall. Doing the same, Amy about-faced, nearly knocking a mug of coffee off the desk and grabbing it just in time, before heading for the office she had abandoned at their entrance. Shutting the door and the blinds, she looked around the small room, trying to determine her next plan of action.

It was perfectly acceptable that she could leave, having attained knowledge as to what the two were up to, but with having gained no explanation as to why. Figuring John might know, though wasn't likely to explain, she had a feeling he wouldn't mind if she didn't stick around any longer. Reaching for the doorknob, she paused, wondering what she was going to say if they asked where she was going or if they had any questions that needed to be answered. Though she was becoming less and less afraid of them, and strangely more comfortable with them the less of a threat they presented, it didn't stop her from being uncertain around them. While she didn't want them to discover her secret, that she was trailing them on John Winchester's behalf, she wasn't sure why she had a feeling the older one, Dean, somehow already knew. The way he looked at her with a perceptive stare caused her to want to buckle and bolt at the same time, ditch out on the plan to find safety back at the motel, while the way the taller one stared at her made her feel comfortable, which was probably the reason she had handed the folder of information over in the first place.

For all she knew, this could be their tactic when it came to dealing with people, the reason why they had been deemed dangerous in the first place. They could be manipulating her into giving them things like they had with other people, probably with things that were more important, by making them feel at ease. While she still hadn't managed the courage to ask John what the two were up to, and probably wouldn't for awhile, it didn't stop her from being curious.

Taking a deep breath, Amy reached inside her pocket to retrieve her cell phone, making a call to the cab company she had used on her way over. After talking to the automated service that told her a taxi would be by in five minutes or less, she transcribed a note into her phone to help her remember a few things for later, before pulling open the knob. At the copy machine stood the taller one while Dean sat at a table, apparently absorbed in some piece of information that had avoided being duplicated. Walking quietly, Amy kept her shoes from tapping against the linoleum as she slipped out the glass doors, seeing the yellow car that had driven her into Green River sitting waiting at the edge of the lot.


	9. Chapter 8

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EIGHT

Perko's Café  
>Brewer, Maine<br>Friday, July 21, 2006  
>3:16 PM<p>

**I**t had been a long while since Amy had seen more than one customer inside the Perko's Café in Brewer, Maine, but that didn't seem to be odd for the establishment. Ever since she had started work there at the beginning of the month, she had barely seen a soul inside, even at peak lunch and breakfast hours. Then again, she had hardly seen anyone check into the motel the restaurant shared a lot with, with the exception of a classic, boxy black car whose owner never appeared to leave whichever room they had chosen to occupy.

It had been a little over three weeks since John Winchester had decided that they should settle down in Maine, taking a room in a neighboring, shore-side city before leaving her alone. In the time before that, while they trailed behind some path in Nebraska that had gone cold for the majority of the end of June, John had been silent, not saying a word to her, not even in passing. At first, she had assumed she had done something wrong during her stint as both a bar patron and a police officer, thinking that maybe she had slipped up and inadvertently lead Dean and his partner straight to them and what they were doing, but quickly realized that John would have let her know whether or not she had done something detrimental. The man didn't seem to be able to contain his anger—which she had witnessed as he spoke heatedly with someone on the phone, then again with the office clerk of the Grover Ridge Inn who had told him his credit card had been declined—and probably wouldn't hesitate to tell her off had she ruined his case for him. Instead, he remained silent, taking them as far east as possible without a word.

For two hours, the pair had sat quietly in the room they just checked into and shared at the Bayview Super 8—a circumstance that had resulted due to John running out of money and having to resort to what little cash he had left—before he had gathered his keys and left. Assuming that he wanted her to pick up where they had left off in Kentucky, with Amy playing waitress while watching out for the men she had been asked to keep an eye on, she had found a diner in the larger town of Brewer, grabbing a shift as the breakfast and lunch server. Though she had no idea if the pair were even in town, though had to be judging by the fact that John had left her there as opposed to anywhere else, Amy had thought to be careful before throwing caution to the wind entirely at the end of her second week. At first, she had worn blue contacts—which had combined together with her naturally green eyes to make an abnormal aqua color—and glasses, hoping that, should the men walk in, they wouldn't pick her out from the various cities she had seen them before. However, after a long while of nothing, she had removed both lenses with no one around to notice the change.

According to the woman who had hired her, an old woman who had apparently spent her life dedicated to the diner, the place didn't see much of anybody all year long, only staying open as from six in the morning to midnight to save money on electricity. Though customers were few and far between, mostly an old man who sat in a booth toward the door with his eyes locked on the television that was perched at the bend of an L-shaped counter, Amy didn't mind the time alone. As she changed seats from day-to-day, finishing books she was buying with the money she earned, she waited for the clock beside the register to buzz and alert her it was time to leave. Every now and again, the cook would emerge from the kitchens and join her, though he seemed more interested in reading his own dirty magazines behind the closed doors of the break room.

As she read through _Acting A to Z: A Young Person's Guide to a Stage or Screen Career_, _Getting the Part_, and _Smart Actors, Foolish Choices_, hoping to pick up tips on how to appear nonchalant and cool-headed the next time she encountered Dean and his partner, and also for the classes she was hoping to get into when school rolled back around, Amy let her mind wonder absently. It had been almost exactly two months since she had been on the road with John, and had only received a handful of phone calls in that time. The first had been Jennifer back in June, while the other three had belonged to friends from Yale, the latter of which going unanswered and unreturned. Though Amy knew that there wasn't any reason _not_ to call her former roommates and classmates, she felt as though reaching out beyond her family was going to be something John frowned upon—one of the many things. It seemed as though, the more time Amy spent with him, the more he began to shoot her annoyed glares that looked like he expected her to know better, before he disappeared for gaps of time altogether. The last time her phone had rung had been in the car on the way to Maine, with John's disapproving glower at the vibration noise giving her enough pause to let it roll to voicemail. After he had left her alone, ditching out for wherever he went, she had thought of calling her friend, Celia, back, only to let the phone sit on the bedside table while she finished reading _Shogun_.

However, without calls to answer or much to watch on television, the time alone gave her room to think. Back in Arkansas, Amy had been staring at her necklace for hours on end, even doing so once she returned from the police station and after she gave the costumes she had rented back. It seemed as though, despite the fact that she hadn't really given it much thought, the thing had suddenly become more interesting. The more she dwelled on it, the closer she came to asking John about her mother, though cowering once she had seen the irritated expression etched into his face. Biding her time, she waited for the moment to bring up the subject, never finding the right second to start the conversation. Instead, it went unsaid as John left, leaving Amy with nothing to do but think.

As he third week of alone time started, so had the want for something to do. Counting her earnings, which she hadn't spent much of thanks to John's push to pay for everything, she had taken a cab to a nearby electronics store, purchasing a computer to keep her from feeling as though she was slowly becoming the only person in the world. Finding a shiny red one, and buying it mainly for the color, Amy had taken it back to the motel and promptly personalized it, setting the background as Handsome Dan to remind her of school and installing the programs she remembered being on her laptop at home. When she was done, she let curiosity get the better of her as she searched the web for any mention of John Winchester or his relation to the FBI, coming up short on both accounts.

Thankfully, time began to pass more quickly as she began using the Internet, using it to reach out to the friends she had neglected calling by shooting e-mails and instant messages. Though she was careful not to mention where she was, almost forgetting until looking out the window, she had told her friends from Yale just enough to get them by. If and when she done traveling with John, which would hopefully be before the semester started to give her time to prepare, she would properly fill them in via phone call or whenever they converged at school. Unfortunately, the more she talked about classes and schedules and what they were hoping to graduate with, the more Amy began to miss the idea of being on campus, having found a home-away-from-home there.

It wasn't often that Amy spoke about school, frequently getting reprimanded by Jennifer for not having a heavier course load and teased by Joel for not auditioning for the newspaper staff like he had when he attended, but when she did, she realized how much she actually enjoyed staying on campus—electively choosing to for her senior year instead of sharing an apartment with someone she hardly knew. The university was large and constructed out of brownstone, with rolling green hills and brick courtyards outside of spacious, window-filled classrooms. The place was comfortable without feeling like a place to slack off and nestle up in, while also holding the primness of the Ivy League. Teachers came from all walks off life, from England to Africa to California, and became enthused whenever students uproariously discussed the subject they were conducting, feeding fuel to the fire whenever someone argued that _Ulysses _wasn't just a parallel to _The Odyssey_ but a complete rip-off of the original Homer work. Oftentimes, the disagreement would last far beyond the end of class, stretching into when others started, though too entertaining to walk away from.

Sighing now as she sat at a booth in the back of the Perko's, keeping her eyes on the elderly man as he remained in his usual spot, Amy felt a pang in her heart as she missed her school. While she had an entirely fine, and usually fun, home life, she couldn't help but feel a staggering sadness whenever the semester was about to end and finals were coming to a close. As she walked into the emptying dorm rooms that had once been filled with furniture and clothes that had been strewn everywhere, it was like walking into the place someone had died, a remaining skeleton of what it had once been.

Clearing her thoughts away, Amy glanced up at her one customer, noticing that he was staring into the bottom of his coffee cup as though confused as to how it had become empty. Shutting the book in her hands, this one _Tales _by Edgar Allen Poe, and placing it in the pocket of her apron, Amy slid out of the booth and headed for the pot behind the counter. As she refilled his mug, earning her a small smile, Amy listened to the low volume on the television, wondering what he was watching that could keep him so occupied. Hearing nothing but boring news, she tuned it back out again as she returned the carafe in her hand to its warmer before heading back to her booth and pulling out her novel.

As her eyes scanned the text in front of her, taking in the first line multiple times, Amy couldn't keep her mind from staying on the subject of school. Though classes didn't start for another month, she hadn't spent the time she normally did thinking over which ones she wanted to try out for the time-honored "shopping week"—the first week of school that was usually reserved for students cramming in the first ten minutes of the subjects they wanted to take to see if they were still interested—that fit inside the requirements for her drama major. Making a mental note to look up the online catalogue when she got back to the motel, Amy glanced at the clock sitting near the register, thanking God that she only had less than an hour left before Sarah came in to take over for the rest of the night.

Though she knew she worked more than eight hours a day, ten on most days seeing as she opened the doors to the diner Monday through Friday, the fact that she was able to sit and read for most of that time deterred her from wondering why the place didn't hire anyone else. Surely there were people in Brewer or Bangor, since it was close enough, that wanted something to do during the summer that would earn them a little money. Unless, like Amy's years before, they had decided to remain poolside—or in this case, shore-side. However, with the overcast weather and threatening rain that loomed in the clouds overhead, how anyone could consider heading to the beach was beyond her. In nearby Chicago, though the "beaches" were mostly sections of Lake Michigan, the waterside areas were usually deserted when it wasn't anything but sunny out. Unfortunately, living in Northbrook meant that the only water Amy saw during the summer months was that off the "cement pond", as Joel sometimes joked, sitting in the backyard, unless she ventured on her own to the Windy City.

Frowning, Amy snapped the book in front of her shut and kept her eyes on the clock, willing it to move faster the more she stared at it. When nothing happened, she sighed quietly, getting to her feet and heading for the counter to find something to do. As she looked for the 409 and rag she had been using to clean off the tables, realizing as soon as her hand clasped around the damp cloth that she had already done that twice and no one had used them since, she reached up to wrap the chain of her necklace around her finger in thought. The more she stood in the more-or-less empty diner, the more she realized that she was doing nothing but dwelling on things that weren't far from her reach. Northbrook and Yale weren't that distant, but she was making it seem as though they were an unattainable goal that was slipping through her fingers. By the time John finished tracking these two men, whose crime she still didn't know, she would be returned to her house on Sunset Trail, ready to get back in the swing of things. However, the longer John stayed away, the more she felt as though she was slowly becoming disconnected from the life she lived, as if everything was lost. Ultimately, though, why she felt that way was still unknown to her.

Deciding to turn her thoughts elsewhere as she wiped away the imaginary grease that had corroded the counter in the time it had been left untouched, Amy focused more on the pair John had asked her to watch, finding it a safe subject that wouldn't make her feel as though she were missing out on something while she was hundreds of miles away. In the times that she had had to reflect on Dean and his partner, Amy had imagined a thousand different situations in which they had managed to pick up the FBI's interest. Back at the police station in Green River, they had asked for the reports on a dead body, leaving Amy with the suspicion that they exhumed corpses illegally to steal whatever was inside the caskets. While she knew that was both possible and strange, and that grave robbing had gone out with the eighteenth century, it was also unlikely considering the body of Tiffani Stone hadn't been buried yet. Taking her ideas elsewhere, that maybe they were private detectives looking into murder cases for clients, Amy quickly realized that the government wouldn't be interested in that. Stumped, she had almost given up altogether, thinking about it whenever it crossed her mind, leaving her brain to curiously try to sum up a distinct crime the two could have committed—coming up short every time.

"Miss," a soft, crackling voice said not far from where she stood, startling Amy out of her thoughts. "I'd like to pay my bill now."

Nodding, Amy cleared her throat and headed for the register, glancing at the clock as she punched buttons on the machine and waited for a receipt to print. When it did, she carried it over to the man in the booth, waiting as he counted exact change for the pie and bottomless coffee he had ordered every day he had been in. Though the total always came to the same number, two-eighteen, it seemed as though he liked to be sure, looking as if he was waiting to be ripped off by the restaurant as he eyed the receipt suspiciously.

Sliding the dollar bills and change in her direction, Amy scooped them up and recounted the tally, finding a nickel in tip and grinning to herself. Getting up from his seat, the man placed his hat back on his head, tipping the brim toward her as she went to the register to place the money in the till. Rounding the counter again, she handed him another receipt as he headed out, the bell over the door ringing as he left.

Staring out into the parking lot as the old man climbed behind the wheel of an equally old Buick, Amy sighed loudly, staring at the clock to find that she had half an hour remaining of her shift. Heading to the abandoned booth, she began to gather the guy's used plates and cups, bringing them into the kitchen to find it just as empty as the rest of the diner.


	10. Chapter 9

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

NINE

Perko's Café  
>Brewer, Maine<br>Wednesday, August 2, 2006  
>1:03 PM<p>

**I**t had officially been over a month since Amy last saw John, and a little over an hour since she had last seen Dean and his partner. Earlier that morning, while remaining parked at her usual booth near the back, she had seen the owners of the boxy, black car tear out of the lot, pausing a moment at where the gravel met concrete to wait for an oncoming car to pass. While they were stationary, Amy looked up from where she was sitting to see the profiles of the two men sitting in the front seat, arguing over something the distance between them blocked out.

However, the more she remained in her booth, the more she realized that that wasn't bound to be the last she would see of the pair. Somehow, in all of Maine, Amy had managed to pick the diner that shared parking spots with the motel the two were staying at, meaning that the classic black automobile she had been staring at whenever her mind started to wander belonged to them. Unfortunately, that meant Dean and his partner had beat John and Amy to the state, setting up shop in a room and refusing to emerge into public—or if they had, she had missed them entirely. In the time between her opening the diner's doors and handing her apron off to Sarah at four, she hadn't seen either of the men leaving the Brewer Motor Inn, the car remaining stationary while she had been inside the diner. Ultimately, though, Amy knew it was possible they had missed each other considering she hadn't been looking for them in the first place, assuming them to be elsewhere.

Frowning as the door to the restaurant swung open to accommodate her elderly customer's shuffling feet, whom she had learned was named Mr. Garrison, Amy watched as he made his way over to his usual booth, lowering himself down with shaky hands and grabbing a menu with practiced ease. As he stared at the shining plastic in front of him, which was useless considering she knew he would just order the same pie and coffee as he always did, Amy kept her eyes on him, wiping down the counter as she waited for him to flag her over to take his order.

While she worked thoughtlessly, circling her hands in a wide motion to clean off the nothing that lay on the white Formica, she let her mind wonder elsewhere. In the past month and a week that John had been gone, she had allowed herself one phone call to his voicemail, not bothering to leave a message in case he was in the middle of something important. When he didn't pick up, Amy had automatically assumed that he was neck-deep in tracking someone else down, probably someone who needed more surveillance than the men she had been asked to watch, considering all she had been told to do was keep a distant eye. Not wanting to blow his cover or put a damper on his work, she hadn't bothered to call again, figuring he would make contact whenever the time was right to do so.

Instead, she had taken to spending more time on the web, divulging a little more details to the friends who asked what she had been up to while summer was advancing. Though she wasn't entirely certain she was allowed to share everything, she had made it seem boring enough to not warrant any questions, laying the subject to rest while her schoolmates talked about the vacations they had been taking—the most interesting so far had been Taylor's trip to Belize. While she read what they wrote in e-mails and IMs, wondering how long it would be before she was back in Illinois or when John would return, she could feel a sense of sadness growing with her wasted final summer break prior to graduation and preceding becoming a productive member of society. Though she had never really thought of the last chance to do nothing before now, mainly because she wasn't sure what she would be doing after graduation and had made a point of not thinking about it until after school started, the sudden idea of not having any more warm vacations between semesters troubled her. Having never really had to work before, aside from when she had been asked to by John, the idea of having to do it seriously was more worrisome than she cared to admit. Sure, pretending to be a waitress from Kansas could be interesting if your rent and other bills didn't count on it, but honestly taking a stab at the workforce without any kind of previous help was going to be distressing.

Finally seeing Mr. Garrison's hand raise in the air, Amy kicked the thought away and headed for him, poising a pen over her order pad while the man rambled off the same thing he had asked for the weeks before. Grinning and nodding before turning to get started on his meal, Amy wondered what about the place had the man gathering in the same booth day after day. It certainly wasn't the pie or the coffee, since both were abhorrent, and it certainly wasn't for the conversation, seeing as he was just about the only customer she had ever had, so what was it? Silently curious as to whether he was alone with nothing else to do, which upset her even more, Amy sliced him a bigger-than-normal piece of peach pie and carried it over to him before turning to head for the coffee machine. While she walked back to his booth, noticing that the man now had his eyes glued to the television set, Amy saw that a pair of cars were pulling into the lot, two she didn't recognize from before.

As the people inside the vehicles stumbled out of the interior and into the overcast day, Amy could tell that all of them appeared ready for the beach. In the first car, a red Civic, two girls exited, dressed in tank tops and shorts with bikini straps coiling around their necks. The second car, a blue Subaru, contained a pair of men, both wearing equally casual attire with a couple of surf boards poking out the back of their station wagon. Heading for the door, the two pairs split off into different sections, a man and a woman each taking a different booth. Wondering what could have them so far inland, especially since the beach wasn't close enough for them to have stopped in Brewer for a bite to eat, Amy eyed them for a moment before starting over, noticing that each couple had their eyes set on each other.

"Hi, welcome to Perko's," Amy said, reaching for the menus that had been clipped between the salt and pepper shakers at the end of the table to pass to her new customers. "My name is Kelly and I'll be taking your order today. Anything to start you off?"

Glancing up from where he stared at his, what Amy assumed, date, a blonde teenager grinned cheekily up at her before glancing and nodding at Mr. Garrison on the other side of the door. "I'll have what he's having."

"Don't be mean, Bart!" the girl opposite him laughed, obviously not meaning her reprimand as she reached across the table to swat him playfully. "Can you come back in a minute? We just got here and need time to think."

Pursing her lips, Amy nodded before turning on heel, heading for the counter to check the clock and see if Mr. Garrison needed any more coffee. When she saw that he was okay, and was now gazing out the window sleepily, she turned her attention to the two pairs of teenagers, finding them distrustful as they spoke quietly amongst themselves, pivoting in their booths to talk excitedly with the couple behind them. Keeping the menus in front of them closed, the two she had gone to talked to earlier pushed them aside and leaned against the tabletop before Bart, the blonde, got up to find himself another table.

Rolling her eyes in irritation, Amy checked underneath the counter for the cleaner and rag she had been using earlier, spraying down the Formica again as though sanitizing the place once more. While she was underneath, she heard the bell above the door ring. Hoping the teenagers had gone, especially since it had now become quiet thanks to Bart relocating, Amy glanced up to see a tall, lanky man standing in front of the television at the bend of the countertop, his hands blocking his face as he combed his chestnut hair forward with his fingers. When he was done, he turned his attention to Mr. Garrison for a minute, tilting his head as though curious as to the man's state of awareness. As Mr. Garrison snapped out of his stare, turning it to the television in front of the brunette male, the younger man smiled.

Quickly realizing who she was looking at, Amy swallowed hard and straightened up, attempting to keep her cool as she gave Dean's partner a once-over. Seeming to do the same, the man before her glanced down at the nametag pinned to her t-shirt, narrowing his eyes at the white letters engraved into the blue plastic as though he were trying to match the name to the face. Realizing that she might have made a grave mistake choosing the same alias as back in Kentucky, figuring it had been long enough since then and that they would have forgotten by now, Amy bit her lip and glanced up into the man's soft eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked, keeping her voice low as though that would throw him off. When he kept his gaze locked on the plastic before turning to stare back at her, obvious recognition and confusion in his expression, Amy balled her fist at her side to try to remain calm. Furrowing her brow in wonderment, she cleared her throat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh…" he trailed off awkwardly, heavy apology coming with his embarrassed shifting. "Two burgers and fries to go, please."

Taking out her order pad and trying to keep her hands from shaking, Amy stared down at the sheet in front of her, illegibly marking down what he had asked for. Shooting him an equally uneasy grin, Amy turned on heel and headed for the counter. "No problem."

Reaching the window into the kitchen, Amy glanced back at the tall man at the end of the bar before leaning against the stainless steel pickup space that served as a way for Tom to deliver his cooked meals to whoever was working without having to use the door in and out of the back room. As she passed the order to his impatient, meaty hand, she waited a few moments for him to throw the ground beef patties on the grill before she caught his eye again. Narrowing his glare as though begrudgingly asking what she wanted, Amy pushed herself off of the steel tabletop and muttered that she would be back soon before untying her apron to carry with her into the break room.

Starting for the door on the other side of the kitchen, Amy turned the knob to find it locked. Hands still shaking, and the man's eyes still on her, Amy swallowed hard before trying again, twisting the knob forcefully as though doing so would break it open. Thankfully, with the clink of metal, the handle turned, something from the mechanism bouncing against the linoleum as she headed inside somewhere she had yet to venture into. The break room had always been, for as long as she had been working there, the place Tom had deemed his own as he went from cooking burgers to reading Playboys between customers. Judging by the forced-shut, possibly locked, door, it was clear that he didn't want anyone inside.

Using the cloth of her apron to shut the door behind her, Amy leaned against the thick wood and let out a shallow breath. What had she been thinking using the same pseudonym twice, especially when the men she had been asked to watch had been deemed armed and dangerous by someone who worked for the FBI? Hitting the back of her head against the door, Amy sighed heavily before hearing the slight ding of Tom's finished bell. Straightening up, she grabbed the chain of her necklace, fiddling with it, then pulled open the knob with her apron, tying it back on once she was out in the open.

As she walked to where a white sack of food was sitting on the stainless steel, Amy peered over at the partner, noticing that both he and Mr. Garrison had their eyes stuck on the television set. Nearing it, she pretended to focus on the motions of using the aged cash register at the other end of the counter, only picking up hints of nothing distinctive. While he handed her money, his expression appearing distracted, and Amy could tell that the man was already elsewhere with his mind, probably worried that something on the news had alerted the local police of his and Dean's whereabouts. Taking off without grabbing his change, and leaving her with over seven dollars in tip, the man hurried out of the diner and straight for the part of the motel outside of Amy's line of sight.

Swallowing hard, and wondering whether or not she should call John to let him know she'd been spotted, Amy glanced over at Mr. Garrison, then at the teenagers who remained spread out. Heading for the pair that had stayed silent during the time in which they had been inside the restaurant, and noticing that they had their menus open, Amy stopped beside their table, hoping that they would order something to give her a task that would keep her mind off of the fact that she had clearly slipped up. It wouldn't be long before she would be out of there for the day, giving her time to rethink her strategy for tomorrow if they were still around, and she had a feeling that sitting idle until then would give her nothing but thoughts of John being angry at her for messing up his job. So far, he had retained his anger, squashing it as though he didn't want to flatten a possible relationship that hadn't even began, but Amy had a feeling that one more bad move on her part would cause the tidal wave of irritation that was building from every slight mishap to overflow. For some reason, John Winchester seemed frightening enough when he was in a median mood, and seeing him angry was not something Amy wanted to incur, especially if his wrath was going to come down on her.

"Have you guys decided yet?" Amy asked, trying to keep her tone chipper.

"Can we just have a couple of chocolate milkshakes?" the black-haired girl in front of her asked, pulling out her wallet to check for change. As the Velcro ripped open, echoing throughout the otherwise quiet diner, Amy noticed that the teenager appeared embarrassed at how loud the sound had been. "And maybe some fries?"

"Sure," Amy grinned, jotting down the order and turning away.

Walking to the other side of the counter, and handing Tom the small, lined sheet, Amy listened to the sizzle of hot oil on the other side of the wall as she prepared the milkshakes. As she was about to place the silver cup she mixed the ingredients in under the machine to spin the contents, a loud, metallic ringing to her right caused her to jump. Freeing her hands, she headed toward the phone hooked to the wall and removed the receiver.

"Thank you for calling Perko's, this is Kelly. How may I help you?"

"Kelly! _Thank God _you answered!" a relieved female voice on the other end of the line nearly yelped. "It's Sarah. Look, I need you to take my shift tonight. I couldn't find a babysitter for Logan and I don't think I can bring him in with me. It'll just be until his dad comes to pick him up at eight. Do you think you can cover for me until then?"

"I don't—" Amy began, only to be cut off.

"Please, Kel! This is the only time I'll ever ask you to do this!"

Pausing a moment to glance out the window and think, just as the boxy, black car tore past the diner and onto the road, Amy bit her lip. Though she was certain at least one, or both, of the men she had been asked to watch had just taken off, she didn't think they would be gone long, and she wanted to be out of there before that. Despite the fact that her shift didn't end for another three hours, she had been hoping to make herself scarce in that time, remaining in her booth in the back until she caught a glimpse of Dean or his partner heading for the inside once again. However, if Amy didn't accept Sarah's proposition to take the block of time until eight, it would leave the restaurant without a waitress, meaning that whoever took Tom's place at four was going to have to do double duty until then—and she doubted cooks were as personable as servers. While that didn't matter much, especially since hardly anyone came in at all, she didn't want to be the one to blame should something dangerous happen while she was supposed to be standing in for Sarah.

Sighing, Amy nodded then shook her head. "Yeah, okay. I'll do it."

"Thank you, thank you! I'll _so _owe you!" Sarah squealed, giving Amy the impression the girl wasn't needing the time off because her four-year-old son was waiting for Daddy. "Seriously, whatever you want, I'll do it for you. If you want to come in late tomorrow, or leave early or something, I'll make sure to be there. Really!"

"No, it's fine," Amy grinned despite herself. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Hanging up without an answer, Amy could hear the line go dead on the other end before replacing the phone in the cradle and heading back to the milkshake machine. By now, the ice cream had warmed a little, causing the mixture to blend together more easily. As she watched the spigot spin, or whatever it was doing, Amy frowned at the idea of staying four hours longer than she had originally planned. With that big of a gap in time, it was more than likely that Dean and his partner, or just his partner, would return, probably to take another gander at Amy to try to figure out where and when they had seen her before. Pulling absently on her necklace, Amy sighed, then crossed the room to deliver the milkshakes to her teenaged customers.

If the two came back, Amy could always try to avoid them, though that would be impossible if she was the only waitress inside the diner. Trying to rush them off was going to be a red flag, as well as would keeping her head down, meaning that if they did return, she had no other choice but to face them.

Sighing at the conundrum she had stuck herself in, Amy placed the cold glasses on the table with a soft clunk before heading back for straws sturdy enough to handle the thick chocolate concoction. Holding them out for the teenagers to grab, she grinned slightly at the black-haired girl as she looked up sheepishly, noticing a separate pair of eyes on her. Glancing at Mr. Garrison, Amy could see the man's gaze had settled on her, looking as though he wanted her attention. Turning toward him, she saw that his coffee was empty, as was his plate. Removing the latter and retrieving the carafe, Amy replenished the steaming, poor excuse for java before placing the pot back on the warmer and staring out the window. Hopefully, if she was lucky, Sarah would be in to let her off before eight o'clock. If not, Amy was going to have to figure out how to right her wrong before she prematurely threw in the towel for John and whatever case he was working for the government.


	11. Chapter 10

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TEN

Perko's Café  
>Brewer, Maine<br>Thursday, August 3, 2006  
>12:34 PM<p>

**A**my sat atop the curb of the sidewalk outside of the Perko's Café, watching as construction crews hauled out burnt pieces of wood and the remaining shambles of furniture from inside the motel room she had heard lit fire the night before. Though she hadn't been at work when it happened, with Sarah coming in at seven to relieve Amy of her duties despite the fact that the diner had not only been more packed than she had ever seen but also catering to Dean and his partner, she had heard almost everything through the low hum of the morning news. According to them, the fire had been deemed the byproduct of arsonists, with the owner of the motel claiming he should have known not to let those "two hooligans" rent a room from him. Putting the pieces together, Amy deducted that the hooligans behind the blaze had been the ones she had been asked to keep an eye on. However, if that were true, John certainly hadn't said much about it when he returned during the evening prior.

Amy had barely entered the motel room when John had walked in behind her, ambling toward the bathroom and looking as though he had spent the last month that he was gone getting beat to shreds. Not saying anything, the man limped over to the sink and turned on the water, letting it steam before running a washcloth underneath to get rid of the blood leaking out of a cut over his eyebrow. As she watched him, Amy could tell that it wasn't just his face that was bruised and bloody, along with what appeared to be a fractured or broken leg, but everything else on his body. Removing the heavy wool coat for the first time since Amy had met him, she could tell that John's usually demanding build had shriveled a little, making him appear almost sickly. When the coat hit the floor, Amy could see spots of blood leaking through John's thin t-shirt, causing her to wonder what had happened in the time that he had disappeared. Whatever it was, the wounds looked a combination of new and old with some of the bruises the yellow and green color of fading away while the cuts were clearly fresh. It appeared as though the man had done nothing but get in fights for the past month.

Sighing and heading for the sink to help him, Amy had tried to bandage up the lacerations on John's face, only to be swatted away and told to put on something less casual. Heading to the dresser, she could see that John had entered the room with a bag full of equipment, things she had never seen before. Eyeing it for a minute, she could see devices with screens and weird pick-ups, though nothing she could recognize. Turning away from it, she had gone straight for the second drawer down, pulling it open to reveal the rolls of t-shirts staring up at her from the bottom. Each one had a different college or city on it, bought either on her way in or out of town as she traveled with John, using them both as a marker for where they had already been and in lieu having not stopped at a laundromat. Sifting through the multiple colors of tops, and seeing nothing but university options, Amy tried to find the one that looked the newest, picking a black v-neck that simply said "Kentucky" in a small circle near the bust line. At the end of the row, the red University of Louisville t-shirt fell loose, giving Amy pause and stopping to fix it before shutting the drawer.

By the time she had finished changing clothes, only switching the top and leaving on the skirt she had been wearing for most of the day, John had already patched up the majority of his wounds with some clear, synthetic gel that acted as a band-aid and replaced his jacket. Following him out of the room, Amy didn't ask where they were going, only keeping her eyes on the man as he struggled to drive them to their destination. Thankfully, by the time they were there, the stop-and-go jerkiness of John's injured driving had lessened, quitting finally when the engine shut off outside of a police station. Not questioning it, especially since she knew the FBI worked with cops some of the time, Amy had climbed out, only to be stopped as she headed for the glass doors leading inside.

"Don't say anything," John instructed harshly.

Furrowing her brow, and wondering if he really needed to tell her that considering she hardly asked him any questions in the first place, Amy had trailed behind him as he flashed his badge to a blonde receptionist, then was shown through a door to the left. Following him through a series of hallways, each the stark white color of what she had imagined a police precinct to look like, John had finally stopped at a door near a corner, knocking on the open frame. An African-American woman looked up from her paperwork, shooting a weary smile at John as though she knew exactly what he was about to ask for.

"You Detective Williams?" John grumbled, flashing his badge again but refusing to introduce himself. At the woman's nod, along with curious glare in Amy's direction, John continued speaking. "I need a few minutes inside the homicide unit."

Scoffing, Detective Williams rolled her eyes. "You're looking at it, agent."

Bunching her jaw in confusion, Amy narrowed her eyes while the detective uprooted herself from whatever she had been doing and headed out into the hall, leaving John and Amy alone inside. Crossing over to the filing cabinet behind the desk, John began pulling out drawers from the bottom up, searching for something inside, Taking a step closer into the office, Amy shut the door behind her, frowning as she watched John make his way through the neatly-placed folders, messing up the system as he removed one after another, not bothering to look before he put it back. Finally, after a long moment, he stopped at the second drawer down, slowing his pace as he searched.

For some reason, something about the way John was hurriedly looking through a detective's files bothered her. Though she knew the man worked for a higher agency than the police did, he was apparently searching through homicide folders, not saying a word as to why or not bothering to ask for help. In fact, Amy was beginning to wonder what she was doing there with him. The man disappeared for weeks, gotten beat up in the process, and seemed perfectly capable to do this on his own. Waiting a minute, Amy cleared her throat, curiosity getting the best of her as she stood tapping her feet.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, trying to keep her tone kind. Ignoring her, John removed a folder, placing it on the detective's desk before looking for another in the topmost drawer. Trying again, Amy frowned. "Does this have to do with those guys you asked me to watch? Did they kill someone?"

There was a long pause as John slammed the door shut and turned around. "Amelia."

Biting her lip, Amy glanced up at the man. On his face was an obvious expression of irritation, stemmed either by the fact that she was asking questions or by the fact that he was being interrupted. Seeming to take both options, John reached for the folder, handing it to her as he made his way out. Trailing behind, Amy attempted to flip through the thing as they walked, only catching glimpses of nothing that she could relate to Dean and his partner. There seemed to have been a death inside the state, a twenty-three year old man named Jake Weller, but it had happened months before John and Amy had arrived. According to the document on the first page inside, the guy's fatal end had either been a suicide or a homicide caused by a struggle. However, judging by the date, that left the pair out as suspects, seeing as the incident had happened when she knew the two had been in Kentucky.

Frowning, Amy snapped the folder shut as John halted in his steps beside the front desk. The lobby was clear of people, though a door to the morgue had been opened to show that Detective Williams was inside searching for something. Taking John's momentary pause as a chance to ask him another question, Amy sighed, hoping to make her next words sound as though she was only mildly interested and not expecting an answer.

"How many cases are you working?"

"It's part of the mission," John grumbled, continuing outside through the heavy glass doors and heading straight for the truck.

For a minute, Amy contemplated asking whether she should drive based on the way John was still limping, but judging by the man's agitated stare in her direction, she had a feeling all it would do would cause him to leave her behind. Getting into the cab, she placed the folder in her lap, leaving it closed as they headed back to the motel. As soon as they were inside the room, she placed it on the table and headed for the bathroom to change into pajamas. She had work in the morning and didn't want to be late, especially since John was counting on her to not get fired. Side stepping the mess she had created in the time she had been inside, making a mental note to clean it up later, Amy turned on the light and stared back at John in the mirror. He was fully engrossed in whatever he was reading, seeming to forget that Amy was even there.

By morning, the man had disappeared again, leaving Amy with nothing but a grungy motel room and an alarm clock that wouldn't stop buzzing. Not bothering to wonder where he had gone now, Amy had headed for the shower, changing into the same black t-shirt from the night before and leaving for the diner. When the cab driver told her he couldn't go any further into the Brewer Motor Inn's lot, due to the fact that construction crews were heading in and out all day because of some fire that had happened the night before, Amy had opened the doors to both the taxi and the Perko's, heading inside to hear the news. All morning, the broadcasts had been focused on the blaze, giving Amy the shadow of an outline as to what had happened and who was to blame, catching more details in the "new developments" section of the ten o'clock segment of the day.

However, as she sat outside on her break, watching curiously as burnt pieces of carpet and the skeleton of a mattress were thrown into a dumpster sitting outside of the black room, Amy couldn't help but wonder whether or not she was right in assuming Dean and his partner had been the ones behind the blaze. It was true that she knew they were staying here, evidenced even more after she had seen them walk back to the classic car that was parked outside one of the doors near the room under demolition, but there was no way to prove that it had been them who had decided to burn down part of a motel. While the owner of the place had said that two men were involved, it didn't narrow it down to _those_ two. Anyone else could have been behind the flames, not just them. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more Amy couldn't come up with a reason for Dean and his partner to light anything ablaze in the first place. Doing so would be a fiery red flag, and if they knew the FBI was hot on their tail, being as careless as that would help the government track them down—that was, of course, assuming that the pair knew they had a target on their back.

Although, with John being back in town, searching through strange police files, that caused Amy to contradict her thoughts. The man disappeared for long gaps of time, going God-knows where, and showing up the same night as the fire couldn't be marked up as coincidence. If the two had been the arsonists, maybe as a taunt to get someone's attention or something, then John's return could be explained as needing to get more hands-on with his following of them. Unfortunately, though, if that was the case, that left a few hundred things to question: why he hadn't told Amy to change her habits when it came to trailing them, why he hadn't asked her to try to get closer to find out what they were up to, or even what he was doing looking through deaths that preceded their stay. Her quick glance at them told her that John seemed to be looking into two unrelated incidents, though the reason why was beyond her. Truthfully, this whole thing was beginning to feel beyond her.

In all honesty, Amy had never given John's requests or actions much thought, just following them without inquiring why or what for because she was too shy to ask. Ultimately, she hadn't questioned him about much of anything, just nodding and doing as she was told, thinking that if it was her business, John would make it her business. However, now that this game of cat and mouse was becoming more dangerous, and not leading to any arrests, as well as the fall semester on the horizon, Amy was beginning to wonder whether or not she had been hauled into this for the long run, causing her to become more curious and vocal about it. While she could understand someone needing help, which she was ready to give, she didn't know if she could continue doing so if that meant hurting her final year at Yale. School started in three weeks, and if she wasn't in New Haven and moved into the dorms by then, she would lose her spot at the university. She needed to know her position in this and it appeared as though asking John was not only the only option, but undoubtedly going to get him mad. Still, she had to ask.

Unfortunately, Amy couldn't help but wonder if by agreeing to this, she had agreed to stick with it until the very end. She had already implemented herself into the task at hand, slowly adjusting into the idea of becoming someone else while keeping her eyes on the two men she had been asked to watch, as well as becoming used to the idea of assisting an elaborate cause. But if nothing was advancing, and she was just a pair of eyes and ears that could be replaced while John's case against Dean and his partner, whatever that case _was, _remained at a standstill, then there was no reason for her to put a damper on what she had to do. If John still needed help during the numerous breaks she got—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Spring, and so on—she would be glad to help him. If not, she was going to have to find a way to bring up the subject that she needed to get home before the last week of August. Though she wasn't sure how he was going to react, though chances were he would get angry, or how she was going to get home if he said no, she had a while before the idea was forced upon her. It was still only the third, meaning she had about twenty days before move in at the dorms, which was plenty of time to figure out what she was going to say that wouldn't make it seem like she was abandoning his cause.

Rolling her head back to look up at the gray sky while another construction truck pulled into the lot, Amy could tell that rain was threatening to break through the clouds. Judging by the darkness of the overcast atmosphere, it was going to pour before long, meaning that her sitting outside wasn't a brilliant idea if she didn't want to get soaked. Getting to her feet, and running her hands through her hair, Amy could see Mr. Garrison's Buick down the road, meaning that the man would be in for his daily routine within a few minutes. As she headed inside, feeling the warmth of the automatic heater against the cold outside, Amy turned on the coffee warmer and waited for the imminent tinkle of the bell.

While she stood behind the counter, trying to stuff the heavy H.P. Lovecraft anthology into her purse from where it had been sitting next to the register, she could see the elderly man trying to hobble his way into the restaurant against the slight, biting wind. Heading over to open the door for him, Amy received a nod in thanks before Mr. Garrison moved to his usual booth, grabbing a menu just like he did every day and settling into his seat. Turning the television up slightly as she passed, the news still rambling off information about the fire as though it was the only story they had to offer, Amy waited for the man to continue his daily routine before calling her over.

However, as she approached him, Amy stopped a minute beside his table as her stomach began to churn as though a serpent had wound its way around her intestines. While over the past week she had felt her heart stop, her breath catch, and her chest hammer in anxiety whenever she faced the two men she was watching, she had yet to experience anything so odd. Balling her fist to let her nails dig into her palm in order to divert her attention away from the strange twisting, Amy waited for it to pass before straightening up, noticing that Mr. Garrison was none the wiser of her presence. Furrowing her brow as the feeling lessened, disappearing entirely after a minute as though the snake had slithered away, Amy swallowed hard, confused.

"What can I get you?" she asked, causing the man to jolt in his seat.

Ordering his usual in his low, scratchy voice, Amy turned on heel to gather it, stopping a minute to wonder what she had just felt. Deciding that it had been nothing but something she had eaten that morning disagreeing with her, she headed once more for Mr. Garrison's table, dropping off his meal before making her way into the kitchen. Inside, Tom stood at the sink near the back, washing the dishes that had been left there to soak the night before. Oddly reminded of Willy from Louisville, especially since the state on her shirt brought her back to his probing eyes, Amy pretended to grab a new order pad from the box underneath the chopping block. As she stood up to head back out, she heard Tom calling her name, causing Amy to turn around.

"I think that old bastard out there has a thing for you," Tom laughed. "I've seen him in here every day since you started working, and I've never seen him before that. Must be following you around like a fly to honey."

Frowning, Amy shrugged her shoulders, not sure how to take the remark. Pushing her way out into the restaurant, Amy shoved the block of lined paper under the counter and reached for her purse, grabbing the book out from inside the loose cloth and heading for a booth in the back. As she sat, keeping her eyes on Mr. Garrison in case he needed more coffee, she let her gaze take in the first lines of _At the Mountains of Madness._ Unfortunately, before she could get farther than a page, another tinkle of bells caused Amy to glance up.

In the doorway, her long, blonde hair blowing in with the wind as it followed her inside the restaurant, stood Sarah. Beside her, dressed in overalls and a red t-shirt, was a small four-year-old, his equally blonde hair just as frazzled from the escalating wind as his mother. Immediately spotting Amy near the west wall, the two headed for her, with the toddler's legs working at twice the speed to keep up with Sarah. When the two finally stopped, with Sarah placing her child in the seat of the booth awkwardly before sliding in across from her, Amy furrowed her brow in confusion. Sarah wasn't supposed to come in until later, and without her son, Logan. Based on the phone call yesterday, and the fact that she had shown up _before _she had claimed she would be in—which Amy had counted as a blessing prior to having to hear about the date-gone-wrong that Sarah had been on, despite the fact that she had been told Logan was sans-babysitter until eight—Amy could only guess that Sarah was there for another favor.

Glancing the girl up and down, Amy could see that she looked tired and worn out. In the small intervals the two had been in the same room, usually the five minutes before Amy was off and before Sarah started, Amy had never really taken a good look at her co-worker. All she knew was that Sarah was a year older than her with a four-year-old, the father of which being nowhere around, except for once a week when he came to pick up the kid. However, if Amy hadn't been told Sarah's age, she would have guessed much older, with the frazzled fair hair against her pale skin making her look like a ghost while the bags under her eyes made her look exhausted.

Feeling slightly sorry for her, Amy leaned forward to catch the salt shaker Logan knocked over with his small, clumsy hands. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah smiled, nodding. "I just need some help with something. I didn't want to ask you on the phone in case you'd say no. This is kind of important."

Biting her lip, Amy sighed. "With what?"

"I got a call yesterday from Maria, this girl that works at the Perko's in Hermon, and she told me that they're thinking about closing all the restaurants on the eastern seaboard. She sounded pretty sure about it, too," Sarah explained quickly. "If that's true, then I need to start looking for a new job. I'm going out today to look, but my boyfriend got me an interview at his father's shipping company for tomorrow. The only catch is that it's at night since that's the only time he can squeeze me in."

"So you need me to cover for you?" Amy asked, slowly.

"Well, yeah," Sarah shrugged.

"Why couldn't you say all that on the phone?" Amy frowned.

"I was afraid you'd say no," Sarah said. "Look, I know you can't take both of the shifts for tomorrow since that's kind of illegal, so I'll switch you. I'll work in the morning and you can close up tomorrow. Or, even better, I can come back to close up for you since you don't really know how."

Grinning, despite the fact that she didn't want to agree to her proposal, especially since she had a feeling Sarah was lying to her face and had brought her kid in to harp on Amy's sympathies, Amy sighed before nodding. Beaming in response, Sarah jumped to her feet and raced around the table to squeeze Amy hard. A moment later and Sarah was gone, Logan in tow as he followed behind on his short legs.

As she watched the door tinkle closed behind Sarah, Amy glanced at Mr. Garrison to see him inspecting the bottom of his coffee cup, as though silently asking for more. Obliging, Amy got to her feet, leaving her book where she had placed it on the seat of the booth, and headed for the counter. Reaching for the carafe, she let the hot handle burn her skin for a moment as she carried it over, the steam from the scorching java rising upward from the mug. Flipping off the warmer as she returned to the machine, Amy placed the pot back in its position, making sure it wouldn't slide off and onto the floor. When she was done, Amy let out a deep breath before glancing out the window, hoping something would happen and that she and John would be out of town before Amy had to take over Sarah's shift.


	12. Chapter 11

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

ELEVEN

Perko's Café  
>Brewer, Maine<br>Friday, August 4, 2006  
>11:15 PM<p>

**I**t had felt odd showing up to work at four in the afternoon as opposed to six in the morning, but thankfully the extra time allowed Amy to sleep in and clear her head. John had been there the entire time since she had woken up at noon, buzzing from one end of the motel room to the other as he went between checking the articles he had tacked to the wall against something in a heavy book he refused to pick up and carry with him. As she watched him, sitting in bed with the television on mute until three, Amy could see that John was in some kind of frenzy, seeming panicked about something he appeared to be in the middle of. Whatever it was, though, it had to be some fact he had learned while away, probably something that would explain his hectic behavior and the bruises he had attained.

Since his return earlier that day, John had apparently forgotten about Amy's existence, ignoring her as she sat beneath the covers, watching him like a bemused cat as her eyes followed him back and forth. The only time he noticed her presence was when she had kicked back the sheets to head for the shower, shutting off the television and accidentally ramming right into him as he went for the wall again. Apologizing, she crossed the room to pause in the doorway to the bathroom, taking in John's repeated motions as he went through his hazy routine once again.

However, all of that had been forgotten as soon as she entered the Perko's Café. It seemed, as a testament to Amy's disbelief of Sarah's story that she actually had a job interview and was instead going on a date just like she had when she claimed she was waiting for a babysitter, the girl appeared to be lip-locked with a man twice her age, squeezing Sarah's backside as they continued to maul each other's faces. Even as she made as much noise as possible upon entering the diner, the tinkling of the bell over the door going unheard, nothing she could do would break them apart until the alarm on the digital clock by the register buzzed at four. Separating, Sarah had wiped her smeared lip gloss off of her face and pretended as though Amy hadn't walked in on her and her boyfriend nearly going all the way. Handing over the apron they shared, since there were only the two of them working there, Sarah had skipped off out the door with the man, not even bothering to clock out as she went.

Unfortunately, only minutes after her co-worker's departure, the diner had begun to fill. While Amy knew that during the day the place was deserted, it seemed the true was opposite of the evening shift. As people trickled in from outside, the handful of parking spaces becoming slotted with cars, Amy was soon up to her neck in customers. Thankfully, as she went through the practiced motions of taking orders, delivering food, and picking up used plates, feeling swamped when she realized the table next to the one she was standing at was also ready to eat, the place began to fall into a rhythm after five, slowing down to the point where Amy didn't feel as though she was swimming in quicksand trying to make sure every customer she had was settled.

By the time the dinner, and way-after-dinner, crowd had trickled into a manageable stream before settling into just a few tables of people, Amy had already made a pledge to never agree to take over Sarah's shift again. While she didn't mind the hard work, or even the customers who had been a bit rowdy when they didn't get their food timely, the fact that she wasn't back in the motel at this time of night bothered her. Almost every time, including when John had come to retrieve her from Northbrook, John had left during the evening to head elsewhere with her riding shotgun. Though Amy had no idea when John was likely to leave, she didn't want to know what he would do if she weren't back in time for him to abandon ship. It was possible, based on the way he had been acting earlier, that he would forget her altogether, checking out without a backwards glance at the girl he had left behind.

Frowning, Amy looked at the clock just as the bell above the door tinkled again, noting that it was only an hour before their midnight closing. Rolling her eyes at the sound, ready to shut the place down prematurely, while she reached for the plates that had been placed on the stainless steel counter between her and the kitchen, Amy turned to distribute the meals, setting the pair of hamburgers down on the table in front of two men who appeared to be truckers. Grinning at them before turning, she glanced at the customers who had walked in, her heart almost stopping when she recognized their shapes. On the other side of the restaurant, Dean took a seat across from his partner, his eyes on the other man as the taller of the two wiped absently at his face. A moment later, the bell above the door rang again, this time to allow Sarah's thin form to enter, her eyes appearing swollen and red.

Suddenly, Amy's sympathies overflowed the irritation she had for the girl as Sarah made her way behind the counter, rubbing at her eyes as tears leaked out of the corners. Biting her lip, Amy sighed quietly as she watched her co-worker pretend to reach for her abandoned order pad, keeping her head down as she looked anywhere but upward. After a long minute, the sound of a whistle diverted Amy's attention, causing her to look away from the distressed girl in front of her and toward the truckers she had just left, both of which holding up empty soda cups and shaking them to rattle the ice.

Bunching her jaw, Amy headed for their table, collecting the glasses and turning toward the machine against the back wall. While she refilled them with Coke, she kept her eyes on Sarah, who seemed to be gathering herself slowly as she wiped away the last of her tears. Not wanting to bother the other girl by asking what was wrong, thinking that she didn't want to be disturbed, Amy rounded for the truckers, depositing their drinks and turned for the men who had just entered. Before she could get there, however, Sarah reached over the counter to stop her, startling Amy and causing her to jump in surprise.

"Kelly, can we talk?"

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Amy nodded and leaned against the Formica between them, listening as Sarah talked quietly.

"Listen, I'm having a really bad night. My boyfriend broke up with me, and just… everything is a mess," Sarah sighed, running her hands through her hair. "What do you say you get out of here when this crowd leaves and I'll close up behind you? I'm sure no one will notice if this place closes down a half an hour early."

"Yeah, sure. I'll take the side with the truckers and you can take the side with the suits," Amy grinned, nodding toward Dean and his partner and feeling relief at getting to avoid them. While she knew she could keep her eyes on them from a distance, she also knew that the closer she got to them, the more likely it was that they would recognize her. Not wanting to change appearances in case Sarah made a comment about it or it seemed weird, Amy hadn't tried to don a wig, glasses, or colored contacts, instead choosing to appear as normal as possible, removing the necklace Dean seemed to recognize from around her neck and placing it in her pocket to have it remain close to her. If they asked if they had seen her before, which they probably wouldn't, Amy could lie and say they had her mistaken for someone else. Then again, if they were wanted by the FBI, it was likely they would skip trying to figure out where they had seen her and go straight for making her confess to following them and working with a Fed.

Swallowing hard, Amy waited for Sarah to head to the other side of the diner before working the one she had designated herself. As she fluttered from the five tables making up the left flank of the small restaurant, keeping her head down whenever she had to face the direction of the two men, Amy waited for her area to clear before heading behind the counter. When she saw that it appeared more people were going out than coming in, she waited for Sarah to return, her section of the place just as empty as Amy's, though with Dean and his partner still taking up a booth toward the middle. Fortunately, though, they were one of the last pairs inside, the rest of their previous customers staying outside and mingling in the parking lot.

"You can go," Sarah said, smiling now. "I can finish up."

Nodding in thanks, Amy untied the apron from around her waist and placed it beneath the counter, reaching for her purse from where it had been stashed under the register. Bidding Sarah goodnight, she rounded to the door, pulling it open and listening to the bell. The breeze outside was cool and crisp, causing Amy to wish she had worn more than that thin, red University of Louisville t-shirt and skirt to work. However, before she could head out into the chill, the sound of a fork being dropped on a table preceded her name being called, causing Amy to freeze in place.

"Kelly! Kelly Taylor!"

Swallowing hard, Amy had a feeling the clatter of silverware in combination with the yelling had been the straw that broke the camel's back. After keeping her head down and staying a safe distance away while checking on the two men she had been asked to watch, Sarah had just accidentally opened the can of words what she had been trying to keep closed. For some reason, even though the name she had chosen had been common enough, she had the strange sense that at least one of the two men had remembered it. That, in combination with the taller of the two staring at her a couple of days before as though he knew her from somewhere, had probably just been the last thing they needed to piece together what was going on. However, it wasn't just guessing that lead her to this conclusion. Strangely, somewhere deep in her gut, she knew they were onto her. It was as though the atmosphere in the diner had changed with the call, like a cloud of anger had formed over the establishment.

Turning and attempting to appear oblivious, Amy gazed at Sarah.

"Don't want to forget your paycheck!" Sarah grinned.

"Seriously," Amy laughed awkwardly, staring at the white envelope the girl had handed her without truly seeing it. She could feel the men's eyes on her, burning into her as recognition dawned. It would only be a matter of minutes before they were after her, probably going to haul her off in a non-descript van to some undisclosed location to try to make the spy squeal. Nodding slowly, Amy let out a shallow breath and glanced at Sarah, her co-worker's eyes narrowed curiously. "Anyway, see you."

Pushing her way out the door, Amy wasn't sure what to do. The motel room she shared with John was at least half an hour away, and she hadn't taken the time to call a cab before clocking out. John would probably get there faster, but reaching out to him would mean she would have to explain her slip-up, probably resulting in a scolding and her being sent back to Illinois for her misdeed. While that wasn't all bad, especially since she had to find a way to get back home before school started anyway, she didn't want her transgression to be the thing that stopped her from getting to know John. He _was _her biological father, and though he didn't act very parental, she still wanted to have some sort of relationship with him. If this was what they had, her keeping eyes and ears out for him while he continued building a case for the FBI, then so be it. At least they had something. She had been curious over her real parents for years, and she didn't want to end any kind of ties after just meeting one half of the pair that had brought her into this world.

However, if time was of the essence, Amy needed to get out of there quick before the men caught up to her. Whipping out her cell phone, she sent John a text message, hoping that he had learned how to read them by now, and asked for his help by sending nothing but the address. While that wasn't much information to go on, she was sure it would be enough to get him to show up, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, as soon as the message was sent, she realized she had written it too late. As the tinkling of the bell echoed throughout the night, Amy could see Dean and his partner heading for her, both with sour expressions on their faces. Flattening her back against the stucco wall of the diner, as though doing so would protect her, Amy glanced toward the few milling bodies standing outside of the cars in the lot, hoping someone would notice anything weird should the two men try something. Stopping in front of her, Dean narrowed his eyes angrily, causing Amy to do nothing but smile naively as though she knew nothing.

"We need to talk to you," Dean muttered, glancing around as his partner blocked off Amy's path back toward the restaurant, preventing her from running. As the man's glare took in the same people Amy had been hoping would help in a sticky situation, he turned his gaze to the empty lot behind the diner, one with no lights and no visibility from inside the restaurant. "Maybe somewhere more private."

Following his eyes as she felt a strong hand grab her arm and pull her forward, Amy gasped in surprise and followed, not resisting or trying to run. These two had been described as dangerous and _armed_, and she had a feeling that escaping would do nothing but cause the pair to pull out whatever weapons they had concealed and start firing. Instead, she fell limply under his grasp, her heart beating a mile a minute.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, letting her go roughly.

Chest heaving, Amy glanced around before looking the two men in the eyes. While she could still see hardened anger beneath both of their glares, though a little less in the taller one's, she could also see extreme confusion and curiosity. Wondering if that could somehow be used to her advantage, that maybe telling the truth could get them to let her go and head back to John when he showed up, Amy swallowed hard.

"My name is Amy—Amelia. Amelia Mae."

"What are you doing here?" Dean fired off, clearing his throat.

"I don't—" Amy began, trying to keep her breathing even, but was cut off by Dean.

"What are you doing in _Maine_?" he asked, lowering his voice in a forced attempt to sound calm, despite the fact that Amy could tell he was anything but. "We've seen you all over the place; Kentucky, Arkansas, and now here. Why? Why are you following us? And what are you doing working with our dad?"

All of a sudden, Amy gasped while Dean's partner—_brother_, she amended—tried to appease him and slow the questions. Thankful for the pause, she turned her attention to the ground, her heart resuming its hammering as she tried to sort out her thoughts. Everything seemed disconnected and scrambled, her mind racing and her chest heaving. John had her following his sons? And if they were his sons, they were her brothers? But she already had brothers, Thomas and Tristan, though they weren't by blood. These two, in front of her, were related to her… by blood? But if that was the case, why would John make her watch them, and why not tell her the truth about them? Instead, he had just said they were dangerous and needed to be kept an eye on. Did he think that telling her she had brothers, that he needed them to be watched to make sure they were okay, or whatever his reason was, would prevent her from doing so? Did he think she would be so consumed with the thought of having actual relatives that she would just throw herself at them to find out what they were like, what music they listened to, what their favorite color was?

Head spinning, Amy tried to center herself, only coming up short. For some reason, she didn't care to know anything about the two who were standing before her. She didn't need a new family, she liked the one she had. Why were they suddenly throwing themselves into her life? Why couldn't they wait until she had graduated college to show up and present themselves to her? What was so special about now? Why were they intent on screwing everything up? Quickly, she was angry. John had lied, giving her the impression of so many things—that Dean and his brother were dangerous, that John worked for the FBI, and so on.

Letting out a shallow sigh, Amy closed her eyes for a minute before looking up at Dean and the unnamed brother. She could see it now, the color of the brother's hair and the color and shape of Dean's eyes being almost exactly the same as hers. Reaching up absently to twirl her own chestnut locks around her fingers, Amy breathed, still in disbelief.

"Your _dad_?" At Dean's curious nod, Amy answered him, the words spilling out of her mouth as she suddenly felt nervous and overwhelmed, "He told me you were dangerous, that he needed me to watch you and keep tabs, or surveillance, or whatever he said. He said it was part of his mission."

"Mission?" the brother piped up, suddenly jumping into the conversation. "Did he tell you what kind of mission?"

"Some FBI thing, I guess. I saw his badge lying around," Amy answered, bunching her jaw and clearing her throat anxiously. "He wouldn't give me any details. Just told me to tell him if I saw you do anything weird—which I haven't, by the way. I started to ask him about it, but he just kind of… got mad."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes at some secret irritation she couldn't place. "But why you? I mean, no offense, but you don't exactly look like the type of girl to get into this. And I doubt you signed up for the gig."

Sighing, Amy bit her lip again, answering truthfully. "I… I don't know."

All of a sudden, the low growl of John's truck engine sounded down the highway, causing Amy to sigh quietly in relief. As Dean and his brother's eyes turned toward each other, communicating almost telepathically, they nodded in unison before disappearing, leaving Amy alone for a minute to try to sort herself out. Heading for where she had been standing while placing the SOS for John's help, Amy leaned against the cold building as the truck bounced into the parking lot, stopping for a small second for Amy to jump into the cab. As soon as she was inside, questions began to flood her brain, things she wondered about John and why he hadn't told her she had been keeping surveillance on the brothers she never knew about. Instead, she remained silent, letting the inquisitions grow, along with a bubbling anger at being left in the dark to come up with her own conclusions about what was going on. All of a sudden, she doubted everything about John, from his job to his reason for picking her up and disrupting her life. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more furious she became, making a point of staying quiet until they got to the motel, where she would unleash every question that had piled up while on the road with the man.


	13. Chapter 12

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWELVE

Bayview Super 8  
>Bayview, Maine<br>Saturday, August 5, 2006  
>12:10 AM<p>

**A**my's head was spinning as John directed his truck back to the Bayview Super 8, his eyes staring forward as though looking at Amy would cause him to lose his ability to focus on the road. It was clear that John had seen Dean and his brother jump into their own car, and it was clear that both of them were trailing the truck as it headed out of Brewer, and it seemed as though both he and Amy were holding back a rage that was threatening to overflow.

Amy was furious for a list of reasons she couldn't contemplate. John had lied to her in more ways than one, keeping her under the impression that she was watching the two men at the diner or bar or police station, or wherever else he had hauled her off to, because they were dangerous and potentially life-threatening. He had her under the impression that he was working for the federal government, though that was partially her fault for not confirming her suspicion, and had failed to mention the fact that, oh yeah, Dean and _his _brother just so happened to be Dean and _her _brother.

On the other side of things, John was clearly fuming over the fact that Amy had blown his cover, probably thinking that the two in the car behind them were trailing to catch up and unleash whatever anger _they_ happened to be withholding from him as well. John had shown up right when the three standing outside the Perko's had separated, but not soon enough for him to not see them congregated and speaking amongst themselves. Though the conversation hadn't been anything prominent, just passing enough information that could neither harm nor help anyone in figuring out what was going on, it was probable that John didn't know that, probably figuring that his three kids were conspiring against him.

While that idea didn't sound like a bad one, especially since Amy was enraged enough to want to punch John in the face, the fury in her chest was quickly turning into confusion. John had lied to her, told her things that would purposefully keep her away from Dean and his unnamed brother, but didn't seem to have a justifiable reason why. In fact, the more Amy thought about, the less legitimate reasons John had for half the things he did. He disappeared for weeks on end, had pulled Amy from a life of safe normalcy to travel with him under the guise of working surveillance on two armed criminals, and had tacked weird things to the wall and researched homicide cases—both of which didn't seem connected to anything specific. It was like the man was all over the board, doing things that didn't make sense, and the lack of clarity was causing Amy to wonder how stable John Winchester was.

As the truck pulled into a stall outside of room three of the Bayview Super 8, Amy could see through the rearview mirror that the black car behind them had chosen to park in the empty lot across the road. Getting out without another word, John shot a glance back at the classic automobile, narrowing his eyes, before heading inside the motel, leaving the door open behind him. Following behind him, just like she had been all summer, Amy shut them off from the rest of the world, slamming the thin slab of wood hard enough for the brass number on it to hit the concrete patio below. As the tinkling of metal came muffled through the door, the sound reminded Amy of the diner, bringing her back around to the anger that had arisen as soon as Dean had muttered the words "our dad".

Before she could open her mouth to say anything, and she had a lot to say on the subject, John had cut her off, turning around to glare at her and causing her to bunch her jaw shut at the weight of the glower. As the two stood silently, Amy running a million thoughts over in her head as to why John would want to keep those two men a secret from her or why she was even there in the first place, she could see that John's face was marred with both anguish and anger, as though he couldn't choose which one to portray in his expression. Swallowing hard, Amy relented her rage for a moment, stepping forward and reaching out a hand before John moved away. Becoming flooded with fury again, Amy scoffed and stood back, holding her ground as John chose to become equally furious.

"You betrayed a direct order," John said slowly, his eyes locking with hers. "I told you not to talk to them, Amelia."

Scowling, Amy shook her head in disbelief. "You didn't tell me _anything_."

It was true. In all the months that Amy had been by his side, either in the car or inside a pair of motel rooms, John hadn't said much of anything, only giving her short commands and leaving, or brushing her off before she could get any more information. Not wanting to disturb him, thinking it was the right thing to do if she wanted to build some kind of trust with him, Amy hadn't asked any questions, wanting to be the dutiful daughter just like she was whenever Joel requested her to do something. She had been hoping, for some reason, that she and John could have what she and her current father had, a bond that meant barbeques and baseball games and whatever else that deal entailed. However, now that she was staring at him, it seemed to dawn on her that John wasn't about to become Dad of the Decade, though why she hadn't seen it before was beyond her. John had been nothing but absentee ever since their first meeting, ditching her in some motel room in a strange city for a month before finally showing up. Somehow, she had gotten it in her head that this was just a temporary thing, that she could go back to school and still remain in contact with John, constructing some sort of relationship over the phone or with covert meetings between his FBI cases and wherever they took him.

Unfortunately, that hopefully bubble had now popped. Now that Amy knew John had asked her to watch out for her actual, flesh-and-blood brothers instead of telling her the truth, she was beginning to doubt a lot of things about the man, starting from credibility to career. Remembering seeing the fake badges Dean and his brother had flashed at her in the Green River police office, Amy wondered if maybe the three of them had the same type of false ID, using them to get into places that were off limits or information that wasn't available to the public. It was possible her first idea that some kind of strange spy-versus-spy was going on here had been right, that she had somehow been caught in the middle of some unsaid war that involved information and possibly even innocent death. If that were true, she had even more to be angry at John about. Amy had been perfectly fine living a life of reading books and going to school; she had no interest in this family drama—if that's what it truly was.

In fact, the more Amy thought about it, the less she wanted to be involved in this so-called family. Yeah, they shared the same last name, but that was where she was drawing the line. For all intents and purposes, Amy was a Forester, not a Winchester, and she had no inclination to join in on whatever was going on between them. Their business was not her business, and John had no right to drag her into this.

No longer wanting to speak to him, Amy began to head for her side of the room, collecting all of her belongings and stuffing them into the multiple bags she had had to buy while on the road to contain all of her new things. As she worked, John watched her, not saying a word as he remained standing near the dresser, resting his elbows atop it near the strange equipment he had placed there sometime between Amy leaving for work and now. Ignoring him completely, Amy gathered everything she could find, careful not to ruin some things as she hastily shoved them all inside backpacks, duffle bags, and the purple suitcase she had originally brought with her. By the time she had finished, the anger was beginning to ebb away into sadness, into the fact that her chance to know anything about her _real _family was slowly becoming a lost opportunity.

Reaching into her pocket, Amy pulled out the necklace she had placed in there earlier in the evening, taking a moment to stare at the intricate cross before slamming it down on the empty table under the window. As the stones in the piece of jewelry dug into her hand, leaving a temporary mark from where it had hit her palm, Amy paused a minute to sniff back the tears that were threatening to rise in her eyes. She hated crying in front of people, and she wasn't about to do it in front of John. She was already mad enough to spit fire, adding hot, enraged tears to the mix wasn't going to do anything but make her look weak.

Gathering her bags, Amy dug her cell phone out of her jean skirt and automatically redialed the cab company she had been using for the greater part of the time she had been in Maine. As the automated voice told her a taxi would be sent to her shortly, Amy pulled open the door to the room, letting the cool air from outside waft in as she stood in the doorframe, keeping her eyes on the car parked across the street. She could barely see the men inside, but she knew they were there, watching her just as she was watching them. Turning away, Amy felt bubbling anger rising again, threatening to come up as bile as she tried to fight it back down. She couldn't place her finger on why she was so angry—maybe it was the idea of a wasted summer, or the fact that she was missing her family, or the fact that she _hated _being lied to, especially by someone she thought she could soon trust—but it was clear that she was seeing red. If she didn't get out of there soon, it was possible John was about to get a new bruise to add to his collection when she threw the hard shell luggage straight at his head.

After a few minutes of staring up at the ceiling, checking for the cab every couple of seconds in case it had rolled into the lot and she had missed it, Amy had begun to calm. She was being irrational, attempting to leave without hearing what the man had to say for himself. Though she had a feeling whatever she asked would either be met by equal anger or another tall tale, she had to at least give him a chance. It was the right thing to do.

Letting out a deep, slow breath, Amy turned to look at John. "Why'd you lie?"

Bunching his jaw in much of the same way she often did when she was thinking, John glared at Amy, pausing a long moment before answering. "It was for your own good. For both of yours. You weren't supposed to know about each other."

"Why?" Amy shot off, forgetting to remain calm. "What damage would that do?"

Narrowing his eyes, John waited before answering again, as though making sure Amy wasn't likely to interrupt him. After a minute, he finally relented his gaze. "There are things you don't understand, Amelia. Things that are beyond your control."

"I don't understand."

"And you won't," John said finally, seeming to want to close the conversation.

Anger rising once more, Amy opened her mouth to speak, only to stop as John turned his back on her to begin packing his own belongings. Scoffing in disbelief, Amy crossed the room to grab his arm and turn him around, doing so with more force than she had hoped for. As John whipped in her direction, Amy suddenly felt guilty for doing so; the man seemed to be wasting away, his original commanding appearance now gone and replaced with that of a guy who was scared and emaciated. Part of her wanted to be concerned, to find a way to help him out of whatever bind he was in, while another part of Amy knew that she wasn't likely to be allowed into the sticky situation, probably remaining locked out just like she had been for the past few months that she had been on the road with him.

As the sound of brakes squealing and gravel crunching came from outside, Amy crossed the room with purpose, stopping beside her luggage and piling each piece on top of the other. While she worked, she could feel John's eyes on her, burning hot like the irritated anger that was festering in Amy's stomach. Turning to look at him one last time before heading out, Amy grabbed the handle of the rolling purple suitcase, stopping at the doorway as John finally opened his mouth to speak.

"If you walk out that door, I can't protect you," he said gravely, his beard twitching as he settled his jaw. "We're all in trouble. They're coming for you, for all of us. They know I'm onto it. If you leave, you'll be first in line. They know you're vulnerable."

Pausing, Amy's heart stopped at the same time as her breath. Though she wasn't sure who this _they _were, or if that was some sort of generalization for Dean and his brother—which she doubted entirely—she could hear a ring of truth in his tone. However, Amy had a life to live and get back to. She couldn't just abandon ship to be protected by someone who had done nothing but donate sperm to her mother's egg—whoever that woman happened to be. While she knew staying on the road with John, especially if she kept the determined demeanor that she had tonight, might lead to questions being answered if she kept persisting, Amy had also given up on trying to discover anything about her real parents long ago. There was no use ruining her senior year of college, and possibly rest of her life, just to dig up facts that would lead to nothing but more questions, probably some without answers. She already had a family; trying to settle into a new one, one that seemed to be the polar opposite of what she was used to, would probably do more harm than good. At this point in time, that wasn't something she wanted.

Seeming to pick up on her thoughts, John attempted to appeal to her one more time, narrowing his eyes again as though doing so would cause her to shrink under his glare. "If you walk out that door, I won't be responsible for what happens to you."

Gasping in surprise, Amy furrowed her brow before tightening her grip on the handle of her suitcase and heading out to the taxi, throwing the bags into the backseat two at a time. As she slammed the door behind her, settling into the cold leather of the cab, Amy let out a deep breath, turning her gaze to the open doorway of the motel room. From inside, John was heading for the threshold. For one small moment, Amy hoped the man would wrench open the taxi and demand that she stay, apologizing. However, she realized that that moment would be nothing but a wish as she recognized that John hadn't and wouldn't show her any affection. In fact, the guy hadn't even asked if she was okay or wanted any coffee during the late night drives and long stays. For her to want him to run after her and tell her he was sorry would be beyond John Winchester's capacity as a father. From the doorway, she could tell that the man had already discounted Amy as a loss as he stared at her, shaking his head in disappointment before closing the room off with a slam.

Swallowing hard to fight back the tears, Amy took a moment to collect herself as the taxi reversed onto the road heading back toward Brewer. Her hands were shaking and her heart was racing, but it wouldn't be long before she was back with her real family. All she had to do was keep that in mind, despite the fact that John's expression of dissatisfaction with her was now etched into her brain, and she would be fine. Leveling her breathing, Amy stared out the window as the cab passed the lot containing the classic car, glancing out the back window as they stopped at a stop sign. As the taxi began down the road, she could see the two men emerging from the automobile, heading straight for the Super 8. Scoffing silently, Amy rolled her eyes and turned around, thanking God that she was now out of that mess and promising herself to never return to it.

A moment later and Amy's thoughts were interrupted as the driver of the taxi glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "Where to, miss?"

Running her hands through her hair, Amy stared at the split ends for a second before answering, smiling sardonically to herself as she finally recognized the fact that she could now get everything done that she had hoped to finish before school started again. Running her fingers thought the flopping locks falling over her knuckles, Amy grinned to herself, the thought not doing much to get rid of the disappointment in who her biological father turned out to be. When she was younger, back when she still thought about her real parents, Amy had always imagined him to be something exotic, a lion tamer or an airline pilot, something that required bravery or intelligence. At the idea of believing him to be an FBI agent, something she had bought into without questioning it, she had temporarily fallen back into that childhood wonderment, thinking that he had fulfilled her silent request. Of course, to hold such standards now, at twenty, when she realized that life was more complicated than that, had been a foolish endeavor. There had to be a reason John and her biological mother had given her up, probably the reason she had just witnessed back in the motel room—the man seemed to be in the middle of some sort of war with his other children, the ones Amy hadn't even thought about; which was, in itself, something that blindsided her as well.

Shaking everything off, Amy cleared her throat, not wanting to think about what she had just walked away from any more. She was ready to go home, to be in her own bed again, and to forget about John Winchester, however hard that may be.

Shooting the driver a smile, Amy finally replied. "Whatever airport's closest, please."


	14. Chapter 13

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

THIRTEEN

Forester Residence  
>Northbrook, Illinois<br>Monday, August 14, 2006  
>1:52 PM<p>

**F**or the past week that Amy had been home, the anger she had felt toward John during her initial few days back in Northbrook had subsided, turning into a sadness she couldn't express. She had blown her one shot at finding out any information about her mother, about what her real father was like, aside from his frequent absences and tight lips, or about anything else involving her biological family. Everything that had been left unsaid had been laid to rest in that motel in Maine, probably never to be resurrected or acknowledged again.

In the time she had been back in the presence of the Foresters, everything had felt strange, as though something had happened that divided the family while she was gone. As soon as she had walked into the house, she noticed that the place was silent and that a cloud of distress hung overhead. Each person was in a different room on opposite ends of the giant home, with doors shut and no noise coming from inside. She had felt the agitation the moment she had burst through the front door, glad to be home after a summer of tumultuous relationships gone awry. All she wanted was a home-cooked meal and to slip on a bathing suit, but it seemed as though whatever had happened was threatening to put a damper on the end of her school vacation. The blinds in every room were shut, the door to the backyard was locked from the inside, and the smell of pineapple and peaches that usually carried throughout the house from Jennifer's numerous fruit salads seemed to be absent. Instead, everything looked dark and neglected, causing Amy to temporarily wonder whether or not someone had died.

However, any chance she had to ask anyone what had happened had been denied. Each room every member of her family had sealed themselves into wasn't coming open, no matter how hard she pushed, knocked, or strained the lock, hoping to break it like the door handle in the Perko's. Rather, it seemed as though everyone had placed themselves on an island, leaving Amy to drift alone throughout the house, waiting for someone to emerge from their cave. On the first day, she had sat at the kitchen table for hours, hoping at least Thomas or Tristan would appear for food since they had always been the ones to eat their parents out of house and home. Unfortunately, the more she waited, the less likely it seemed anyone was going to come out, making it clear that it appeared each Forester had planned accordingly at the start of the shut-in and stockpiled each room with whatever they needed.

After a few days of no explanation from anyone, Amy had begun to wonder whether or not they all were hiding from her. Fortunately, on her part, it seemed as though everyone had been staying inside for weeks before her arrival, meaning that whatever had divided them had happened long before she had returned to Illinois. Ultimately, though, she had a feeling that the reason behind the separation wasn't going to be spelled out for her, leaving her alone to wander and figure out what was going on.

Giving up entirely on the Friday after her homecoming, Amy had retired to the pool, supposing that she had nothing else to do and had already spent a whole summer trying to solve some unshared mystery. For the past three months, her mind had been on overdrive trying to figure out what John could want with her all of a sudden, what had gotten the FBI interested in two seemingly innocent men, and why she had been asked to trail behind them, and she had been looking forward to not having to spend much time thinking during her final weeks before school. Trying to sort out whatever was bothering the Foresters was going to be another round of speculating, something she knew her mind was already tired of doing.

However, the more Amy thought about the continental divide, along with the missed opportunity that she had left behind in Bayview, the more the sadness she had felt at the beginning of the plane ride into O'Hare continued to grow. At the airport, she had felt shaky and unable to focus, accidentally slipping up at the concierge stand and probably raising a few attentive eyebrows at the thought of her possibly carrying on something dangerous. While she handed over the wrong credit card, struggled to find her driver's license, and tried to juggle the multiple bags she had on her, Amy could feel her brain begin to shut down. By the time the ticket to Illinois was printed, and by the time she discovered her flight wouldn't be until the next morning, everything had felt disconnected in her brain, as though she wasn't inside her own mind. Walking around the terminals as she waited for six o'clock to come, Amy wandered aimlessly, trying to gather her thoughts. The argument with John, the idea of having brothers, and whatever else had happened from May until August had been too much for her, causing everything to overload in her head. Finally, by the time she got in line to board, everything had come back together, allowing her to focus on heading home.

Unfortunately, now that she was left floating between closed doors and an open poolside, Amy was beginning to feel bored, missing the idea of getting up to head somewhere every morning, even if that meant a small diner where she worked alone. It had been something to do, something that occupied her time, and something that didn't make her feel as though she was wasting away her days. She had planned, at the end of the previous semester, to spend all summer sitting by the water, trying to squeeze in every last book she had on her reading list. Now that she had finished them all before leaving Maine, she had nothing to do and no starting point on another sheet. The roster had been comprised of recommendations from teachers or odd picks at the library that she hadn't been able to finish before the two-week return. Without anyone to ask for suggestions, she was left with nothing but a finished shelf and an open TV Guide, none of the options for viewing rather than reading looking all that enjoyable.

Shifting awkwardly on the couch, and pulling the pillow that had found its way below out from under her, Amy shut the magazine in her hand and tossed it onto the coffee table, sighing loudly. There had to be at least one person in the house who was tired of being cooped up in one of their rooms, especially if they had been doing so for weeks, but it seemed as though no one was budging. Reaching for her cell phone placed on the cushion beside her, Amy flipped through the text messages she had sent to her various local friends, some she had known in high school, only to see that none of them were going returned. It appeared as though she was alone to fend for herself for another day, meaning that she could either sit around the house, head outside to work on her tan, or go to the mall to pick up some new school clothes. Ultimately, though, none of those options sounded appealing. All she wanted was someone to talk to or hang out with, preferably close to home since John's echoed, unconfirmed warning of being watched and followed still gave her pause.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell chiming throughout the house caused Amy to jump up from the leather sofa. Walking cautiously toward the front entryway, she could see a figure through the ornate, frosted glass circle in the mahogany, someone of slight build holding something in their hands. Trying to figure out who it could be, since the neighbors were all gone on their separate vacations or at the nearby country club, and soliciting was prohibited on Sunset Trail, Amy stopped a minute before opening the door, pulling her long hair over her shoulder absently. On the porch step stood a short blonde holding a tray of cookies and beaming, her bright blue eyes lighting up as soon as she saw Amy. Perking up, the blonde switched her hold on the plate in her hands, offering it forward as soon as the threshold was fully exposed.

"Howdy, new neighbor!" the blonde said in a slight southern accent. "How's it going on this fine, fine day?" Shoving the tray forward before giving Amy a space to answer, the blonde continued talking. "I hope you don't mind me baking those for you. I just moved in next door. My name is Bailey, Bailey Yost. And who might you be?"

Swallowing hard, Amy accepted the cookies and stared at them for a moment. While she knew she had been hoping for someone to come over and occupy her time, preferably a friend she had something in common with or could talk to, she hadn't expected a new neighbor. Everyone in her development, as far as she knew, had lived there since before she was born, with no one moving out, even before she had left with John. She didn't remember seeing any "for sale" signs, or even any—and Jennifer would have a heart attack—houses for rent on the block. According to her mother, renters were the sign of a dying community, and she was thankful that Northbrook seemed to be the place where people came to stay for life. Even old Mr. Roark, who had died when Amy was ten at the ripe age of 93, had left his house to his granddaughter in his will, and she had readily moved in not long afterward. The idea of a new neighbor was strange, causing Amy to wonder what had happened while she was gone, both inside her own home and apparently with whoever had ditched Sunset Trail.

"Hello? You hard of hearing or something?" the girl asked, interrupting Amy's thoughts. "If you are, I know some sign language that might help. Let's see, uh, B—"

"No! Hi," Amy said, reaching out a hand to grab the other girl's as she started to fold her fist into whatever the gesture for her name was. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about something. I'm Amy—Amelia, actually, but no one except my parents call me that. You just moved in, huh? All by yourself?"

Smiling wide, Bailey shook her head just as a warm breeze from outside floated past the two girls standing on opposite sides of the doorway. Having forgotten how hot it was outside due to the fact that the air-conditioner in the house was on full-blast, Amy stepped aside to allow Bailey to come in, receiving a gracious grin in return.

"Thank you kindly," Bailey laughed while Amy shut the door. "I thought I was going to melt out there it's so hot!"

Smirking, Amy tilted her head toward the kitchen through the living room, leading the way to the bar sitting in the middle of the space. Setting the cookies down, she turned back to look at the girl following behind, noticing that Bailey was slowly walking past the couch Amy had just abandoned, glancing around as though dumbstruck by everything inside. Grinning in amusement, Amy watched as Bailey touched the soft leather of the sofa and eyed the plasma television mounted to the wall above a media cabinet.

"Your house is so… _nice_," Bailey commented, finally glancing back at Amy.

Grinning again, Amy shrugged. "Thanks."

Turning to look around again, Bailey let her fingers trace the granite of the bar's countertop, eyeing the stainless steel appliances and fixtures. While she looked, Amy followed her gaze, wondering what was so interesting about the house. She had grown up with the place and it's many renovations, having to deal with a professional decorator coming in at least once a year to redo parts of the house with the changing styles of home interiors. Last summer, the black leather couch had been an uncomfortable white sectional and the walls had been painted an awful mauve as opposed to its now tan. Everything else in the house changed whenever the living room did, including Joel's study, which he was now cooped up in, and the movie lounge, where Amy assumed Jennifer to be—though she didn't know how much redecorating a wood-paneled room could undergo, especially since nothing ever looked different whenever it was scheduled to be revamped. The only thing that never changed was her bedroom, which had been painted a Tiffany blue when she was sixteen, though buried under multiple film posters, and filled with black furniture and a king-sized bed. While she knew the décor was juvenile, she didn't spend enough time at home to care.

"So," Amy said suddenly, breaking Bailey away from her gaping at the room and kicking herself out of her own random thoughts to bring them back to the subject, "you from around here?"

"No," Bailey smirked. "I'm from Mobile, Alabama; born and raised."

Nodding, Amy headed for the fridge as she let Bailey explain how she had wound up in Illinois, only stopping as Amy offered her something to drink. As the two stood at the bar, sipping on cold Pepsis, Bailey described how her father owned a private insurance agency that was merging with Allstate, whose headquarters were Northbrook. As she talked about how the move had been stressful on her mom, since she had never lived anywhere else, as well as hard on Bailey since she had to file a change of address with her college, Amy tried to find a roundabout way of asking who had sold their house to her family.

"—but getting a hold of someone in the records office at Yale is just a total nightmare," Bailey continued. "I called about three times and got no response. I'm supp—"

Amy stopped her, gagging on her soda as she held up a hand. "You go to Yale?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bailey nodded, seeming confused at Amy's surprise. "What? You didn't expect someone like me to go to an Ivy League school? I may be from Alabama, honey, but not everyone there is dumb."

"No, no," Amy laughed. "It's just… I do, too."

"Really, now? Ain't that something?" Bailey grinned.

Taking another sip of her Pepsi, to lessen the burn of the carbonation from her earlier choke, Amy listened to Bailey continue on about her hometown, going into detail about some small scuffle that had happened between her and her now-ex-boyfriend the day she had left. As she talked, Amy frowned. Her new neighbor went to Yale. It was an odd coincidence, considering the idea that she even had a new neighbor in the first place. Reaching up to grab her necklace chain in thought, something she did often, Amy felt nothing but the collar of her t-shirt, anger coming as she remembered slamming the piece of jewelry down on the table of the motel as she packed her things in Maine. Of every event during the whole summer, that was the stupidest thing she could have done, followed closely behind by leaving with John Winchester in the first place. She didn't know why she had done it, especially since that necklace meant more to her than anything, except for the fact that maybe she was trying to prove a point that she wanted nothing to do with that family. However, now that she had nothing to toy with while she thought, she wanted it back. Maybe, though not likely, John had grabbed it before leaving the Bayview Super 8 and she could call him to get it back, though the idea of calling him to send her something in the mail seemed like a bad idea. Contacting him for a trinket would open the floodgates of fury again, and no matter how much that piece of jewelry meant to her, she didn't want to reprise the fevered conversation.

Clearing her throat, Amy turned her attention away from her thoughts and back onto Bailey as she wrapped up the verbal reenactment of her final fight in Mobile. Smiling as the girl finished, Amy tapped her finger against the soda can absently, noticing that Bailey was looking at her expectantly, as though waiting for Amy to say something. Deciding that she could fill the silence that was growing with questions, Amy bit her lip.

"When did you move in? And whose house did you move into?"

"The Gundersons," Bailey said, flicking her head to the left. "They sold it to my dad for a pretty reasonable price, too. Apparently the real estate market's on the rise right now."

"That's what I hear," Amy grinned, noting that the Gundersons lived in the house directly to the side of the Foresters, though there was about a yard of grass between the two lots sitting sprawled on a spacious cul-de-sac. "Did you just move in today?"

"Yesterday," Bailey grinned, but the smile only lasted a moment. Pausing as though noticing something was wrong, Bailey looked around again before turning to glance at Amy, frowning. "Do you live here alone? It's a big house for you to have all by your lonesome. I saw three cars in the driveway."

"Oh, no. My, uh, my family's in the middle of this thing they're working out. They're all in separate rooms," Amy grimaced. "I haven't been home, so I don't really know what happened. I don't even know if they're still alive."

Laughing right as the sound of a small beep began to echo from a watch somewhere, Amy glanced around before noticing that Bailey was pushing a button on the side of the waterproof wristband she wore. Sighing loudly, the girl rolled her eyes before looking at Amy, appearing disheartened about something.

"I have to go," Bailey explained. "I put something in the oven before I came over."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you house to burn down," Amy smirked.

Nodding, Bailey headed for the foyer with Amy trailing behind, pulling open the door for the other girl when they reached the threshold. Bidding her a good afternoon, Amy waved as Bailey headed to the left, disappearing out of sight as she headed past the front of the Forester house. Biting her lip, Amy waited a moment, standing in the archway as cold air conditioning met the summer heat. It was weird; the Gundersons had been her neighbors for the past twenty years, always boasting that they would be passing their house down to their kids when the time came since they expected real estate prices to grow to undocumented levels by the time Trina, their fourteen year old daughter, inherited the place. Robert, Trina's father, had been a mortgage broker for Chase for years, always coming over to tell Joel when the market was on the rise or downfall, as though a criminal lawyer would care for that information. For them to sell was odd, though if home prices _were_ climbing, she could understand their trying to make a profit, especially since the family owned another place in Florida where they vacationed during the summer.

Still, the girl just _happened _to go to Yale? Most of the people in Northbrook went to DePaul, the private Catholic university Jennifer taught at, or had relatives in the Ivy League. She had yet to meet anyone who attended the same college as she did. However, it wasn't that weird. Amy had been asking for someone to talk to, and she had been answered back with someone around her age who went to the same school. Counting her blessings, Amy headed back inside, migrating toward the couch she had abandoned earlier to find something to watch on television.


	15. Epilogue

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just **strongly recommend **it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

EPILOGUE

Chicago O'Hare  
>Chicago, Illinois<br>Monday, August 28, 2006  
>2:57 PM<p>

**T**he boxes Amy carried down the stairs were getting heavier with each one, seeming as though every square of cardboard contained more and more things inside. She had spent the last two weeks packing her belongings, gathering everything she needed for her final year at Yale, and shoving them inside filing crates and disposable containers. Most days, as she worked, Bailey would keep her company, bringing over new music to listen to or DVDs to put on while Amy tried to pick out things from inside drawers or atop her desk.

The two had made fast friends in the short time they had spent together during the summer, bonding immediately over the fact that they both had a soft spot for pop-punk and Disney movies. As Amy fluttered around her room collecting things, Bailey had sat at the head of the bed, flipping through magazines or awing at Amy's bookshelves across the way. According to the other girl, Mr. Yost was an avid reader of the classics, buying every edition of _War and Peace _and _The Tempest _available. Apparently the man had over fifteen versions of the same novels, most of them in languages he didn't speak.

By the time the last weekend of summer rolled around, Amy had finished packing, offering Bailey to help over at her own house, only to discover that the girl had already gathered and shipped her things to New Haven. Feeling slightly disappointed at not being able to catch a glimpse of her new friend's room, Amy had waited for Bailey to invite her over anyway, only for that chance to never happen. As Sunday night came and went, and knowing full well that her flight to Connecticut was scheduled for Monday evening, Amy had given up the idea of heading next door, instead choosing to focus on the fact that she was finally going back to Yale. Every hope, and hours spent thinking, about heading back was about to become a thing of the past. In a few short hours, she would be returning to the gorgeous campus, matriculating with her fellow students and class of 2007.

Sighing contentedly as she continued to haul boxes down the stairs, Amy packed the last of the five boxes into the back of Joel Forester's Mercedes, slamming the lid down and wiping sweat off her brow from the heat when she had finished. For the majority of the last two weeks, and the one before that, the Forester house had been totally silent, with no one saying a word until the quiet had finally broken a few days ago when Thomas and Tristan were due to leave for their own boarding school in Springfield. In the entire time leading up to their departure by train, since they had crashed their car the year before and neither of their parents wanted to drive them all the way there, it appeared as though nothing had happened during the month of August and beyond, as if every unsaid thing had been erased somehow. Finding it weird, Amy had tried to ask either of the twins what had happened, seeing them for the first time since May, only to be brushed off as they were hustled into the car and sped off toward the station.

As soon as they were gone, she had been left alone again, giving Amy the impression that maybe she had been right in her assumption that the separation was due to her. Having not gotten any kind of explanation, she had tried to think up anything that could render such a strange division of her family, coming up with nothing plausible. Instead, she took the blame, burying it deep in her chest as she talked with Bailey and got ready for the new school year. Thankfully, as the days passed by, it had begun to get easier as soon as Thomas and Tristan were gone, with Joel and Jennifer returning to normal the closer Yale loomed. Unfortunately, neither of her parents seemed to want to give reason, ignoring Amy's questions whenever she asked as though neither of them had heard her inquisitions.

Finally, Sunday night, after Bailey had left to go home, Joel had finally come to Amy to discuss school, making the same plans as the years before: he would take her to the airport, then automatically start on the drive to New Haven. As soon as Amy landed, she would get her information for school and dorm room keys before heading for Joel's Aunt Sophie's to spend the night—apparently the woman lived for the visit. The schedule had been weird and disorganized, and the first year of it, Amy had objected to it, figuring they could start for Connecticut two days sooner to arrive at registration on time, but the idea had been hatched when she had been accepted to the university, with Sophie proclaiming that now she would finally be able to see more of her favorite great niece. Not wanting to break the woman's spirit once she had been told about Aunt Sophie's declaration, Amy had agreed to go through with the plan the years following, packing an overnight bag for the short stay.

However, if things were going with Aunt Sophie the way they were in the Forester house for the past few weeks, Amy was doubtful she would even be allowed through the woman's front door. Despite the fact that Joel and Jennifer were doing their damndest to make it seem as though everything was perfectly fine, Amy could tell that there was still something wrong, and whether it was paranoia speaking or something else, she had a feeling their distance was due to her. Of course, Amy reminded herself often, that could also be due to the fact that she had often convinced herself that she was to blame for everything.

Shaking off her thoughts, Amy paused a minute as she glanced toward the house. The front door was still open with Joel standing near the doorway, straightening the rug with his feet that had gone askew with the multiple times Amy had gone in and out. As he stood there, Amy couldn't help but be strangely reminded of the night John Winchester had taken her away from her family, with Joel standing in the same spot, though at night, looking as if he wasn't likely to see her again. The expression had haunted her for a few days following her departure, about as long as John's disapproving stare had followed her home, but had eventually faded away. Now that she looked at him, Amy could remember it, half wondering if that gaze could be to blame for the summer separation.

Thankfully, before she could dwell any more on the subject, Joel exited the threshold, shutting the front door behind him and spinning the keys to the car around his finger, heading toward the Mercedes parked in the driveway and packed with crates. As the ring encircled his index digit, Amy listened to the clinking of metal, suddenly remembering to check for her plane ticket and key to the storage locker in New Haven housing the bigger items she couldn't take home during the summer—bedclothes, lamps, and so on. When she found them secured between her wallet and cell phone, Amy let out a sigh of relief, ready to get to the airport to put the disastrous summer behind her.

Hopping into the passenger's seat, the car hummed quietly to life, a soft sound compared to the roar of John's truck that she had been hearing all summer. Relaxing into the comfortable leather seats, and feeling the air conditioner automatically blast her with cool air as soon as the vehicle started up, Amy took a moment to close her eyes as the Mercedes reversed onto the road. John Winchester's truck had been bumpy, old, and constantly smelling of fast food or odd spices. The back seat had always been littered with books or bags of something Amy could never make out. In comparison, Joel's clean, smooth car was a luxury to ride in, though by appearances alone, Amy could only guess that the Mercedes cost more than John made in a year, if he made any money at all.

Frowning at the thought of him, Amy snapped open her eyes just as Joel merged onto the freeway, making his way toward Chicago O'Hare. The traffic this time of day was thick, meaning that the trip to the airport was bound to take longer than the usual half an hour. Turning to look out the window, Amy read the signs on the side of the road as they passed each exit, judging how fast they were going based on how many became nothing but a reflection in the rearview mirror. As she kept her gaze fixed outward, Amy let her mind wonder back to the last time she had been heading out of Northbrook. John had gone straight for Chicago, returning with his face slashed open and bruised much like the last time Amy had seen him. In fact, both her first and final encounters with the man had been nearly exactly the same. John had been beaten, with an expression that made it look as though he would rather be anywhere than where he was, and had only said enough to make Amy afraid. However, in Maine, her split from him had been mixed with anger. Though she heeded his words of warning, staying inside the house rather than going anywhere for the rest of the summer, she couldn't put her life on hold for some looming threat that she wasn't sure would come true. The man had lied to her before, what would stop him from doing it again?

Letting out a deep breath, Amy tore her stare away from the passing cars to look at Joel on the driver's side, taking in his thinning red hair and bulbous nose. While the past few weeks hadn't been a shining example of his parenting, the man had been more of a father to her than John had proven to be in the past few months. Joel had been there for every big moment in her life—rollerblade scrapes, drama productions, and so on—and was now driving her toward her final year of college. The man had done more for her than she could imagine, and she was sitting in the passenger's seat thinking about someone who had walked in and out of her life after only being in it for a short time. For some reason, the idea of wasting her thoughts on someone else seemed disrespectful, though she couldn't place her finger on why.

Straightening up, Amy looked out the window as Joel merged off the freeway, stopping with the traffic backing up at the off ramp. As the light turned green, and the cars in front moved along, she could see the enormous structure that was Chicago O'Hare. Despite the fact that she had been inside the airport more times this summer than any before, she was glad to finally see it again, this time to head back to campus for the grand finale. Promising herself to make her closing year at Yale the best of them all, and to keep John Winchester and her disastrous last three months out of her mind, Amy smiled to herself as Joel pulled up behind the line heading for the drop-off station.

"So," he said after a long moment while they waited for a space outside the entrance to clear, "did you have a good summer?"

Glancing at him again, Amy grinned as she turned to Joel, noticing that the expression of distance was still fixed in his face. Trying to keep that from getting her down, and focusing on the fact that she was just a short plane ride away from New Haven, Amy nodded, figuring it better to lie than to leave her father with the impression that things had gone awry while she had been with John. "Yeah, it was—it was good."

Since she had been back, neither Joel nor Jennifer had asked Amy about her trip, choosing to act as though she had never left the house for the majority of the break. Acknowledging the fact that, despite the rest of her family staying locked up in different rooms the entire time she had been back, it was possible neither of them wanted to know what had happened in her time away, Amy hadn't started the discussion, instead choosing to ignore it as well. Now, when she was about to leave for another city, was not the time to open the flood gates, especially while they were waiting in a slow-moving line.

By the time the Mercedes found a spot outside of the Virgin America entrance, Amy had already wrapped her hand around the handle of the door, ready to jump out. As the car slid to a stop behind a shuttle van, Joel placed the vehicle in park, taking his hand off the stick shift to place on Amy's shoulder while she adjusted her purse and grabbed for her overnight bag. Furrowing her brow curiously, Amy locked eyes with her father, seeing that worry now clouded the oddness of his previous expression. "Be safe."

Giving him a small smile, Amy blindly opened the passenger's side door. "I will."

Getting to her feet, the sound of jet engines and conversation filled her ears as she walked away from the Mercedes, pulling her tickets out of her purse before turning to wave Joel off. As the car disappeared in the line of others, becoming encased between two vans, Amy took in a deep breath. In just a few hours, she would be walking toward her new dorm at school, hopefully meeting whoever was her new roommate, and becoming settled into her final year. The only hurdle between that moment and now, aside from the hour and a half plane ride, was having to promise Aunt Sophie dinner out and having to sleep on the woman's hard guest bed. However, in retrospect, that was a lot easier to deal with than the last few weeks at home had been. The silence inside the house alone should have been enough to send her packing prematurely.

Smiling to herself, Amy tightened her grasp on the airline tickets in her hand, making a promise to herself that her final year at Yale would be the best one yet and that her summer away from Northbrook, Illinois would become nothing but a distant memory.


End file.
